The Soldier

He stands alone,
With a face of stone,
And eyes of cold, icy steel.

A skin of scars,
A face,
Marked by age, and fighting wars,
The Soldier.

There he stands,
All alone.

His spine is an iron bar,
He is rock.
Molded from marble.
There he stands,
The Soldier.

The Man Who Forgets is no more.
Many years he has fought.
For many a good cause.
But many things change,
When The Soldier,
Goes to war.

A good man, no more.

He is changed,
He is battle-weary.
Demons run from the mere sound of his name.

The Soldier,
He is who he is,
What nothing can change.

He is no more,
Never to be,
What he was before,
All he is now,
is The Soldier.