The pain of memory,

seeing millions of comrades,

fallen, lost,

and I can't bear the cost.

The pain of thought,

thinking of those we fought.

The wounds scattered on my skin

remind me of the stress within,

the war,

and the horrors it brings.

Tears surround me,

they remind me who I've been,

a soldier repressed

by a regime,

by which thousands perished,

crushed by their dream.

With guns in hand,

everything that's happened

was a mistake,

but it was I who had to partake.