So in the spirit of Wilfred Owen's "Dulce et Decorum Est" - I copy a more modern poem, by Brian Turner, an Iraq war veteran.
If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta’s opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you’ve started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.
It's Veteran's Day. Not every veteran is a hero, but every veteran made a sacrifice. Their suffering is worth remembering as well as their service; maybe in the future, there can be less of it.