A soldier stands among the crowds,

No longer strong, no longer proud,
He risked his life for the country he loved,

For those he cherished for all of us.

 

He went to war, and he fought hard,

His body bruised his memory scarred,
Now his rights have gone away,

He lives alone, uncared for, abused every day.

 

He was lucky in some respects,

He made it home, he survives yet,
Sometimes he wishes he’d died out there,

For nobody seems to care.

 

They laugh at him as they walk past,

He wishes his youth hadn't faded so fast,
For he was a hero, once respected,

Although now he stands alone, rejected.

 

He often wonders what he was fighting for,

In those far off distant shores,
He wears his medals on his chest,

As a reminder he was one of England’s best.

 

Although his friends are dead and gone,

He remembers them all, every one.
They where warriors, they did their best,

Fought hard for us, put their bodies to the test.

 

As a nation, what do we do,

For the men and women that fought for me and for you,
Do we help them, do we care,

That they fight another war out there.

 

The war of the streets, the battle to survive,

Every day it gets tougher to stay alive,
Sometimes he wishes that he could die,

As you walk past, notice the tears that he cries.

 

What good is a man without a home,

A soldier without his name being known,
He sleeps in a doorway to shelter from the rain,

But it can never wash away his pain.

 

He suffers today, as he suffered before,

He doesn't want to suffer any more,
A carrier bag holds his only effects,

He’s now an outcast, another of society’s rejects.

 

Anthony Kasazkaja 2013