The Man that Was...

I could never understand what paths I needed to follow
Yet I've taken up my M4 and my M9
Blood runs around me like a river
Yet tears of the ages past fall on me, and I've never set foot in a field of death
I look forward, to find a future obscured in darkness
Looking backwards, all I can see are the words etched on every soul
"This is not the end"

I walked into many lives, built hearts and homes, and shattered dreams souls with a single bullet, a word a deed so strong that so many fell
Am I that monster?
Am I truly that creature whose is venomous by touch and taste?
I could entwine the world to my soul
I could be the greatest or the worst
And yet, here I am on the field of battle, taking lives like it was drinking water
Still can't get the scent of blood off me
The smell of cerebro-spinal fluid gracing the inner annals of my olfactory nerves
I could look around me, and still not have my answer

Should I be afraid of who I am? I'm a lover, a government-licensed killer and passionate soul
Given the name of an angel at birth, but powerfully magnetic like
The invisible Satan that tempts so many to their demise
Just who am I?
Am I a child of perdition
Just what is it I am seeking in this life?
Could sex dominate me as death did?
I could not be that little whore, could I?
What truth could I find if I didn't know it when I decided upon it to be my truth for fear having no truth at all.

Did I lie? Aye but it was by and by when I talked, yet even in the midst of a hell, I could only hope to smile when I could break free for second to fly
See who I am ?
No lecherous lothario, not such a powerful warrior
I am just a man, dying inside his own mind. Desperately trying to find his way to something that will heal his festering wounds.

So he turns to poetry, but his words are laced with sensuous swill, venomous bile and seductive poison
He drew a few with his passionate words; for a man of 23, he knew just what to say
He knew what to do and how to do it
But what good did it do him?
What was he missing that he coudln't find it by now?
Even on the battlefield, he knew how to kill and stay alive
Now what would he do?

Dreaming comes so often for him, since he could never have truly understood them
And though he looks to God, he hears only the words etched in his heart, not truly sure what to do

So he sits high above the city to watch the millions scurry about,
and the winds tell him his story for all time.