Breaking The Silence

He came off the plane with jungle dust in his bones,

A photograph, a faded name, a letter rolled in a comb.

Returned to a town where the warm smiles were thin,

They called him a ghost and they shut out his grin.

Medals in a drawer, dust on a shelf,

He gave years of his life, left a younger self.

We should never forget, we should always recall,

The men who went down and the ones who came home small.

Stand up, speak their names, give them honour and breath—

We will hold them close, we will not leave them to death.

Never forgotten, never alone, never less than the best,

Treat them with respect, give them peace and rest.

Nighttime comes hard with the thunder of rain,

Shadows turn to helicopters and the backyard’s a plain.

A car backfired down on the street like a gun,

He dropped to the curb, every heartbeat undone.

Dreams of the green where the cicadas know wrong,

He wakes with a shout to the world moving on.

We should never forget, we should always recall,

The men who went down and the ones who came home small.

Stand up, speak their names, give them honour and breath—

We will hold them close, we will not leave them to death.

Never forgotten, never alone, never less than the best,

Treat them with respect, give them peace and rest.

There were nights he thought of folding his hands,

Of stepping off cliffs to faraway lands.

But a letter from a kid, or a mate at the bar,

A slow gentle word can outshine a scar.