M.I.A.

"(To) Walk the city lonely,
Memories that haunt are passing by;
A murderer walks your street tonight...
Forgive me for my crimes; don't forget that I was so young,
 Fought so scared in the name of God and country..." 

           ...I haven't been able to properly sleep in these last few days. I can't but feel ungrateful and inconsiderate, as I look out the window, about my life situation and how lucky I am to be sleep in peace. My thoughts shift to my brothers, who are out in Afghanistan, fighting not for Freedom, nor for Democracy, but for survival, just to make to the end of the day alive and sane. I know that when those two return, this final, somber verse will ring true: they won't be family, friends, or lovers, but murderers whose only orders were "Point & Shoot." I forgive them, regardless. I know and understand the cost of war, and I'd be naive to think they weren't affected. That they weren't afflicted. Of course they will be. And it's that thought that frightens me, and it's the truth I must soon face. To what extent it permeates our lives, I don't know. I don't think I want to know.