Travelling One Day...

With our band there marched a Marine, a crass and hardened fellow
He desired no companion and his disdain showed yellow.
His skin was rugged burnt and upon his face was grieved trouble
For no man witnessed sorrow as did he, his experienced was double.
When approached and asked an age and occupation,
“20, Jarhead” was his reply, hardly a dissertation.
Further questions were not encouraged, but more were needed,
A traveler asked his origin, he parroted, “the pit of hell, born and teated”
He followed this reply with a sadistic grin and a sadistic threat
And declared no further information had he to beget.
The group men wondered who the new dirty adventurer could be
So they burdened the women this to discover, it came with no small fee.
The battle-bred Marine, hot like summer cold like winter, took a fancy to they who approached him.
It must be understood that a man of his type enjoyed women beyond imagine, it was certainly not a whim.
He opened up the crevice of his being, the cell of his heart to these women because they were the form and image of his hope.
When buddies died and he shed blood, a wife or girlfriend was his cope.
He described the days soaked in sweat, dehydrated and filthy,
He killed and butchered learning that this was his pithy.

All and before the time of his discourse to the women the Marine appeared resolute and unchanging
His gaze and appearance pitilessly harsh, almost deranging
But during his confession and his memoir and his penance the mind and heart broke.
These women were his priests and the traveled path his booth, his tearful revelations were sobbed, barely spoke.
He recounted an instance in battle when a small child approached.
The child carried grenades and self-explosives. Our Darwinian Marine acted and consequently the child as if a cask was broached.
Our marine gunned down the child’s surrounding family
Sisters Brothers Mothers and Fathers, none slaughtered grudgingly.
He admitted enjoying this perverted communion
And sought to fulfill his blood lust every chance demonian.

At this point in his oration our Marine’s eyes swelled, showing great inflammation.
Henceforth the women attempted consolation
And declared his actions to be expected in any situation.
But the Marine simply shook his head saying that throughout
His only crave was the theft of his enemies life element, his life’s grout.
The Marine continued his tale describing his wife’s unfaithfulness.
His time in hell, his time in Hades only comforted by his covenant companion, sucked of its bliss.
He never saw his love in war and upon return he never saw his love at home,
The life he once previously had known,
Now void of reason, and wanting in assurance
Became an illusion a non-reality a new regular and useless occurrence.

When the Marine had finished not a sound could be heard.
Men in the pilgrimage their noise deferred
And knew not what to say.
How could they help this man keep his demons at bay?
But alas, in the mind of the Marine his worth was lost.
His troubles and horrors others had cost.
He took up his rifle and determinedly marched
He had a new mission a new purpose this man so parched.
And upon clearing the others traveling
Our sullen pilgrim placed the rifle in mouth
And burst impended doom into melancholy flesh, nothing availing.
His battered body crashing to the earth
And another Marine passed, truly not knowing his worth.

-Nathan