In the quiet of the night, when shadows whisper lullabies, And the world is wrapped in a gentle cloak of quiet sighs, I lay, a soldier, on a bed that feels like foreign ground, Where every breath is drawn through the barrel of a pounding sound. My eyes, they close but never shut the scenes that play, Reels of war, a silent film in stark, unyielding gray, Each heartbeat marks a step through fields of yesteryear, Where fear and valor danced without a single tear. The night is my battlefield, a stage of haunting cheer, Where ghosts of the fallen whisper in a brother's ear, Their faces, once so vivid, now faded and obscured, Call out from the fog of a war that's never occurred. In daylight, I don the mask of the man you see, But nightfall peels it back to reveal what's truly me, The screams of the fallen echo in my soul, A cacophony of anguish that takes its toll. The smell of gunpowder clings to my every thought, And the taste of metal is what fear has bought, The touch of a hand becomes the jolt of a grenade's fright, And in the quiet, the quiet, the night becomes the fight. I walk the tightrope of sanity's thin, worn line, Where every step is a battle, a fight to be fine, My mind's a minefield where memories lay in wait, To trip the wires of peace and shatter my fate. The sun's sweet kiss is but a fleeting reprieve, For when darkness falls, the war in me does not leave, I fight the demons that dwell within my skull, Their shadows cast long, a never-ending brawl. The world outside is bright and filled with cheer, Yet I'm adrift in a sea of doubt and fear, The laughter of children, a symphony so dear, In my heart, a minefield, a battle I hold near. Thunderstorms become the drumming of a war's crescendo, Each flash of lightning a flare, a stark reminder of the commando, The rain, a deluge of tears for all the friends I've lost, The thunder's roar, a chorus of the endless cost. My hands, once steady, now shake with unseen fright, As the whispers of the dead keep me from the light, My heart, a cage of pain and grief's tight plight, Struggles to beat in time with the world's delight. In the quiet of the night, I am not alone, For the specters of war have made this place their home, They dance and taunt with every moonbeam thrown, Reminding me of the price for which I've grown. I crave the silence that others take for granted, But in its stead, I'm haunted and enchanted, By the echoes of battles that never really ended, By the screams of the fallen, my soul has been rended. Sleep is but a memory, a fleeting embrace, As the night is ruled by the warrior's disgrace, My mind's a warfront, a prison without a base, Where peace is but a whisper, a distant place. I march to the rhythm of the past's cruel jest, Where every moment is a battle, a quest, To find a place where the bombs don't jest, Where my heart can finally find some rest. In the quiet of the night, my thoughts are stark, Of the things I've seen, the souls that left their mark, But amidst the chaos, a star's faint spark, Gleams through the gloom, a promise, not just stark. For every dawn that breaks the night's dark seal, Is a victory, a moment to feel real, A chance to heal the wounds that never heal, To live the life that's not just about the deal. So, I fight on, in the quiet of the night, With the strength of those who held on tight, For in the end, it's not just a fight, But the will to live beyond the battle's plight.