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In the quiet corners of a small town, there lives a man whose name is known but whose story remains untold. He’s the kind of figure you’d pass on the street, steady gait, a nod hello; but beneath that calm exterior festers a battle no one sees. Years ago, he gave his body and spirit to his country, hauling its burdens through chaos and danger. The injuries he earned linger like unwelcome guests, etched into his bones and sinew, a constant reminder of what he endured. But it’s the mental weight, the invisible trauma, that presses hardest, a load he refuses to share. He keeps his loved ones at arm’s length, not out of coldness, but out of a fierce, unspoken need to shield them from the wreckage he carries.

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Beneath his skin, the scars lie deep,
A map of wars he cannot speak,
Old wounds that twist with every breath,
A private dance with quiet death.

He served his land with steady hands,
Through mud and fire, through shifting sands,
Each crack in bone, each tear in flesh,
A price he paid, a muted thresh.

Now shadows pool beneath his eyes,
A storm he locks in thin disguise,
The ache gnaws sharp, a jagged blade,
Yet still he stands, unbowed, unswayed.

He smiles through the morning light,
Tells all the world he’s “doing right,”
But in his chest, a furnace burns,
A grief that twists, a tide that turns.

The mind replays what body keeps,
A reel of nights he never sleeps,
The screams, the smoke, the falling friends;
A loop of loss that never ends.

He’d rather break than let them see,
The man he hides, the frailty,
For if they knew, they’d bear his load,
And love’s a weight he can’t unload.

So silence reigns, his closest kin,
A wall he builds to keep them in,
Safe from the dark that claws his soul,
A patriot’s heart he can’t console.

Each step a fight, each day a chore,
He guards his pain like sacred lore,
And though it tears him piece by piece,
He holds his tongue for their release.

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And so he moves through life like a ghost in his own story, present but apart, a man who once stood tall for others now crumbling under the weight of his own silence. The people around him, family, friends; see only the surface, the brave face he’s mastered over years. They don’t hear the echoes that rattle his mind or feel the tremors in his hands when the world grows still. He fights on, not for glory or recognition, but for the simple, stubborn hope that his suffering might spare them pain. In his isolation, he finds a twisted peace, a lonely heroism that no medal can honor, no words can heal.

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AND A SONG INSPIRED BY THE POEM FOLLOWS:

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In a quiet town where shadows fall,
Lives a man who gave his all.
Wounds unseen beneath his skin,
Fights a war that lies within.

Silent soldier, standing tall,
Battles rage when nightbirds call.
In your mind, the echoes play,
Fighting demons day by day.

Through the fire and the rain,
Carried burdens, shouldered pain.
Now the scars no one can see,
Hide the hurt, the agony.

Silent soldier, standing tall,
Battles rage when nightbirds call.
In your mind, the echoes play,
Fighting demons day by day.

You smile to mask the storm inside,
A hero’s heart where fears reside.
Loved ones near, yet feel so far,
Reaching out to where you are.

Silent soldier, standing tall,
Battles rage when nightbirds call.
In your mind, the echoes play,
Fighting demons day by day.

In the silence, you’re not alone,
We’ll be here to bring you home.
Silent soldier, rest your fight,
In our hearts, you are the light.

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