The Hero

He sits in the corner, his eyes rimmed with red,
A tankard in his hand and dark thoughts in his head.
A beer for the hero! A patron will say.
He nods his thanks, his face set and grey,
The drunk soldier sobs softly and starts to wail,
Tears down his face, he stares into his ale.

He sits at the bar, his head in his palms,
He mourns his dead allies, his comrades in arms.
"They are the heroes, they lost their lives!"
"I am a coward! I run and I hide!"
He sobs on the bar, his pain is immense,
He weeps and he cries for the loss of his friends.

The soldier, he loudly expresses his woes,
He swings his arms wildly, fighting phantom foes,
He trips over his feet as his fervour grows,
The drunk hits the floor and his eyes flutter closed.
I am no hero, rings the thought in his mind,
I should have died like the rest of my kind.