Hauntings

Author's Note: This is a poem about Quatre's POV on war and how he still feels the spirits of those he has killed. They envelop him, they torture him, but most of all, they haunt him....

What do warriors fight for?
For this I often question
Are we in it for the profit?
I'm open to suggestion
My motives I doubt
My loyalties unclear
My emotions are jumbled
And all this I fear
Sandrock can't help me;
He's only a machine
Please guide me, Allah,
I'm only sixteen
I preach about peace
Yet I bring about death
God, I'm so confused
And gasping for breath
I can't take much more of this
For soon I will explode
If I don't lose my life first
My brain will self-destruct mode
Everytime I take a life
Part of my soul dies, too
For I have died a million deaths
Each one just as painful and true
I've begun to hear voices
When I close my eyes
Even in the stillest of nights
They catch me by surprise
For they are the hauntings
Of fallen men and spilt blood
I stumble over them in my dreams
And fall into the mud
Each voice is loud
And every soul is crying out
I want to end this miserable hell
But all I can do is shout
Shout at the injustice;
Shout at the wrongs
That plague me in my nightmares
And gather up in throngs
I fight by the sunlight,
But when the darkness will blind
I'll fight another battle
The battle in my mind.