His camo is in the closet and his bow is on the wall,
His arrows untouched, for he will not hunt this fall.
Or any year after, he feels he is alone
An army of a thousand men and he was sent home.
Only stubs now visible where his legs used to be,
To live beyond the blast, to serve his country.
Now through the darkness, his limits all come to mind,
The excuses of his life were all that he could find.
An anger deep within, he was fading away,
To be done with the pain not face another day.
Yet his dad came in his vision a distant memory
A chance to relive his childhood, of things that used to be.
They loved to hunt together, he smiled at the thought
Of the stories and the animals his dad almost got.
And of tag stew that they ate, a brothy mixture in their caper
More vegetables than anything. Was that really soggy paper?
He could hear his father’s laughter as it quietly ebbed away,
He remembered hunting in the morning, naps during the day.
They would laugh at his stories and his lavishing puns,
And admired the collection of his many guns.
How his dad harassed him, with that bow over there,
A Stick-Flinger he had called him with a twinkle in his stare,
But that bull that he got with it, before his dad would die,
Made a boy into a man, with pride in his father’s eye.
Through the shadow of death he faced his fears
He heard his fathers words ringing in his ears,
As he had seen battle and the force of a hand
His fathers battle cry, “Not on our land!”
But when the Twin Towers fell, so did he
Risking life and limb for the land of the free.
With tears down his face he quietly asked, “why?”
From the voice of his father, came a reply.
“You are who you are, helpless or not,
Rise above your weakness and deal with what you got,
For your life is not a dream, or something that is given,
Your life is today, and for you to start livin’.
Then he woke from his dream, as quick as a wink,
After four years he had to move beyond the brink.
With a program for the wounded, a beacon in the night,
A warrior who has faced a battle and struggled through the fight,
He gathers up his courage, and presses strength within
For the first time in a long time, he is ready to try again
He has built an inner-strength within himself somehow
His history and future blend together to the man he is now.
He grabbed his prosthetics, and silently slipped them on,
His friends were coming, and his nightmare is now gone.
The night rests from the darkness now fading to light,
The moisture teases the senses of the frost’s first bite.
Anticipation of Autumn and the gathering of friends,
And this is where his dream of hunting begins.
For his camo is in his duffle and his bows off the wall,
His arrows are sharp, he’s going hunting this fall.
He can here a bull bugle a high pitched scream,
He is going to live, and be more than his dream.