By Kathleen Locklear
His eyes were glazed over, as if he was seeing another world.
In a sense, he was.
He was seeing the past; or more accurately past events.
A war from long ago, screams and shouts of agony and rage.
He saw flashes of fire, bodies fall, bullets fly.
He saw his friends fall, never to get up again.
He saw himself leave with the few who had survived the bloodshed.
And now, well, he was seeing it all again. Only not in person, though it felt like it.
His eyes were glazed over and unseeing, and yet they were seeing more than anyone could imagine.
There were those who could imagine,
Others who had seen the same things, and understood his pain.
They are our veterans, and some silently scream everyday.
Only to be heard by those willing to listen…