In corridors lined with silent whispers,
A veteran walks, burdened by his name—
A thread unraveling, stitched with scars,
Guilt weighing heavier than flame.
Beneath the mask, he wears his failure,
A phantom cloaked in midnight’s hue;
Voices linger, soft as shrapnel,
Cutting through the fractured view.
Each step he takes, a ghost beside him,
Specters woven from desert dust,
Eyes of comrades long forgotten,
Each stare a quiet, endless trust.
What absolution waits in shadows,
What dawn could burn the darkness clean?
Yet in the quiet of his sorrow,
He walks a path unseen, unseen.
The world around him soft, unseeing,
A courtroom held beneath the stars,
Where memories are wounds unhealing,
And silence speaks of hidden wars.
