Disclaimer: No, Gundam Wing's not mine!
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A Little Thing Called …
Piece by piece, we pick up our fragmented lives,
Each of us telling himself that we've won.
As soldiers, a 'normal' life, we realize,
Can be nothing but fighting, and we succumb
Eventually, not to war but to the silence that follows.
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Really short, I know, but that most times is a good thing with poetry. I think it's self-explanatory. The pilots would definitely have trouble coping with a normal life when they've attained peace (note the acronym), perhaps even more so than coping with war. Maybe not more, but certainly as much.
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