A veteran of some foreign war,

mind bent from things a man should not see.

Only with a bottle of Jack D

could he come close to feeling free.

Could not hold a job, tried over and over again.

Failed and fell lower every day,

wondered if he was punished for his sin.

He did not want to kill those folks,

did not want to take another human life.

He would write long letters home,

but kept the worst things from his wife.

One day he wandered away

to who knows where...he could not remember.

Until he grew old and alcoholic,

sleeping on a park bench one freezing December.

The angel of death took pity on his plight,

scooped him up in bony arms

and took him in the cold of night.

(Poem credits to original author)