I was a soldier then, young of years, now old of mind. Beyond my years judgments I have made, those of life and death, judgements which now taint those I have left. So many years gone by it has been.

Sitting alone, long after the family’s asleep, after the shadows of the day have past, when all is quiet and the solitude of silence envelopes me.

Names forgotten, hills and valleys no longer barren, buddies long forgotten, all in the stillness of the night silence returns. The quiet before hell itself unleashed, silence when it’s taken its leave and just before the moaning begins.

In the quite of the night, blanketed in darkness, when its silent, that is when I remember, what real silence is.

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