I Hung My Head

[ThePoet]

Away from my country, I was at war overseas;

I sat in the Humvee, gun between of my knees.

The sand, it was glaring. There was a wind blowing hot.

Our windscreen collapsed beneath the weight of a shot.

Straight into action, my unit filed out the truck;

A man was running at us so I fired and struck.

My Captain then patted him down. I watched on with dread:

He calmly said, "He's unarmed." I hung my head.

 

I hung my head. I hung my head.

 

From out of a hovel, there came a girl about ten

Who cursed at me in languages exceeding my ken.

They must have been family; I think she had no one else.

The people in the street, they seemed unwilling to help.

Her eyes filled with tears that slowly spilled to the sand;

She tried to stem the bleeding with the strength of her hands.

Her father's breathing fluttered, lungs were flooded; he bled,

Groaned and stopped. Her shoulders dropped. I hung my head.

 

I hung my head. I hung my head.

 

Years since it happened, I'm overwhelmed by the guilt.

The memory, insistent, of the blood that I spilled,

The innocent man that I killed. The daughter I robbed.

I thought he was a danger and he ought to be stopped.

My brain couldn't comprehend all the horror I'd seen:

Scarred by the dreams and discharged dishonorably.

Now I wake at midnights still; I sit in my bed,

I wipe my tired eyes and sigh and hang my head.