Find Peace

I've seen this a thousand times,
Long faces and wooden boxes.
You all file off your plane or chopper,
Looking for your families.
Those in boxes are carried down,
The grieving has begun.

You see your families for the first time in months,
But no smiles are to be found.
They'll come after a good drink,
Perhaps something stronger?
Hardly a word is spoken save for, "I love you's."
Hugs, Kisses and Tears.

Those boxes lined up in rows,
Are the source of all this sadness.
Their contents' a bitter memory,
Of times when life was treasured,
And laughs were shared between friends.
These boxes are all that's left from back then.

I've watched those mourning families,
Everytime when you have returned.
I've never known their pain before,
But I prayed I never would.
Those boxes are haunting,
They are the end of the innocent.

I dreamt that life would come good,
That there would be peace on Earth.
But dreams are dreams,
This is reality.
The box beneath my fingertips is evidence,
That heroism comes hand in hand with death.

Go, find peace Angel.