I withdrew from the fight,

it didn't end yesterday,

but what now?

nothing's the same as before, they say.

I keep just one thing,

an old medal i own,

a reminder of battles,

where i fought and was known.

I captured innocents,

did it all make sense?

sincerely, i no longer know,

if it was worth the expense.

I was part of the repression,

a dark era in words,

now part of the past,

a memory that stirs.

I followed the victors,

the oppressors' design,

without thinking of what,

would turn out malign.

I failed to see the hunger,

or lives lost in a day,

caught in the sorrow,

watching the light decay.

Seeing eyes filled with pain,

and those filled with dread,

yet i stood frozen,

with arms crossed, instead.

An old medal of gold,

makes me recall,

that my comrades and i,

brought fear to it all.