He took part in an act off delusion,

something that he was curving for his solutions.

Hypothetically speaking I gave him roses to match his questions, as his beacon.

But he tries to match his words with his reasons,

something that triggered his confusion.

The contract of his aroma left him lingering in a state of destruction.

 

Tiny swords of ice meant to harm,

yet simply will melt away from the touch of possession.

Reminiscing on that night, I only recall my screams of horror.

The tears of disappointment,

the stat of being “I could of done more,

I should of done something."

Second guessing myself of raw unexplainable art.

 

His last moment and yet his pain wasn't too great for himself,

yet he still left us his last canvas.

His humiliation left him debating, saying in a form of sentences;

"I'm sorry that I wasn't stronger."

He slammed the gun at his head, threatening to let go of the pin;

that was holding the trigger.

Slit my throat, shoot my face, tying a not, hoping to choke,

and nothing else will seem better at sealing my fate.

 

This isn't what I thought, this isn't what I wanted,

and yet I'm sitting here writing this note.

Saying to myself, please don't.

Yet he screams please, why me, I'm sorry,

why did they have to send me away, I never wanted to leave,

and yet I was wandering the fields of my dreams.

 

I never wanted to go to the Army.

Those horrible things I had seen.

The screams, the death, and that night I had to take a life.

Afghanistan was harsh, the things that changed you,

and yet the wings of darkness flew down and grabbed me. 

Bang, bang, right past my ear. It was dark and I couldn't see clear.

Patrolling an area unknown to me.

I jump back to save myself,

yet I wished I would had been just a few feet towards those bright lights.

 

One got away with something,

all I know is she ran fast with a purpose.

I rushed to make sense of my confusion.

Just behind the wall was just a child screaming.

Who would have thought that he and his sister was just looking for food and medicine?

 

Left shaking in my boots, my lieutenant told me that he was suffering

and that I had to put him out of his misery. 

Left in silence, he yelled at me saying it was an order.

This Afghan child couldn't be a day older than ten.

Yet I yanked my knife from my side, got on my hands and knees,

held his head and hands, and

told him to look at the stars and never stop reaching ahead.

Yet he look at me and he might didn't understand me,

yet he still look at me and never took his eyes off me.

I blinked and it was over,

yet his face was burned in my mind as an image never to be forgotten.

I still choke from closing my eyes;

I always hoped that it would be finished.

 

My life is hunted by a theory, what if he couldn't been something.

I a worthless thug took the easy way out of the tug of war;

which I struggled to maintain with the huddle.

Seeing that white door, me in that orange jump suit;

didn't picture the judge giving me a alternative.

Go to jail or enlist in the army, was my only options to my delusions.

Seem easy for the picking; I just

didn't see the red tape describing my fate of this sentence.

 

That life that was missing changed the different situations of my mission.

The existence of a child going missing wasn't something easy for the picking.

I absents of my zip code, left me thinking.

His life was taken away by harm,

and yet he was reconstructed to live in the purist forms.

See before releasing himself from his duty, he reinforced his apologize.

He apologized for being that awkward child in the corner,

that skinny bean flipping alone in the morning, red nose wearing glasses,

that bullied un-fathered child, and last was that butterfly that just couldn't seem to fly.

 

That child left in a coma, resting in dust,

and yet this is the life that couldn't must the strength;

to overstep that windy gust.

He was a caged animal looking in the sky, a beast,

and even a monster who couldn't reach for that hand that faded from his touch.

This is what led him to the arms of death, the arms of the army,

and yet he had to react in the same curl behavior of his beast.

He now struggles to hold his composer,

a beast let loose on his subordinate coworkers.

 

I scream to myself in the mirror, grabbing the sink, and I think to myself;

"Is this the thoughts of suicide, I believe I'm stronger than that."

I seek forgiveness, only now to see that I can fix it.

I believe every child has his own life and reasons,

no matter your shape and size;

even if you’re unidentified to life's unreasonable expectations.

I now live life without the risk of exposure to dis-constructing words.

 

I was born in pain, yet I was punished for my beauty;

I was born in unnatural ways that I still can't explain.

Was this meant to be life's biggest secret, because I won't keep it?

This goes out for that child that was built on futures.

Please except this name that was giving, Abdul Markquee.

That Afghanistan child left reaching for the stars and fell short upon my eyes.

Suicide might be a solution, but I as a lieutenant;

wasn't giving that order to purse it.

I a man will keep his secret,

yet I will always be that soldier looking for peace

that was never giving as a precision decision...