I love a soldier.
His war is not here, it is not now.
His war began at fifteen when he left home and joined the army.
He was a small package, they told him to come back in a year, and he insisted he was strong-he was.
In a place lost to the worlds eyes, he fought alongside his 'brothers'.
He slept under trees; he ate snakes, baboons and mushrooms.
He squeezed the liquid from a kudu's stomach, and drank it, but only once, when digging for water returned nothing - the next times water was scarce, he sucked on a pebble to quench his palette.
He pranked his brothers, he laughed with them, and he held them, when they died.
He killed the men who killed them.
His eyes have witnessed unspeakable truths of bush war, the reality of the cruelty of humanity in its struggle for power.
It is said he can kill a man with a piece of string at a hundred yards...
His eyes could not hurt a fly, blue as crystal waters blazing in the African sun, they pierce truth in every shimmer, revealing reality; they gleam with wisdom gleaned from the creatures of the land for which he fought.
I love a soldier, who with faithful action permeates serenity into my life.
My spirit becomes unsettled, my mind confused in trivial matters...
Crystal pools look back at me settling my soul into a peaceful understanding of the meaning of being alive.
Based on truth - for the love of my life.
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