Abecedarian of a Lost Soul (Draft 2)

A boy, a girl, a hero
Born or forgotten?
Cast into a mold or
Destined to make-up their
Every move and desire,
Forgetting themselves and forgetting
God and his companions as they
Hold on tight while memories rush in
Invading their senses, leaving reality
juxtaposed with the faces of whom they
killed, but for what, they are no
longer sure. Call it war, call it justifiable
murder, call it what you may, but in the
night when gunshots are the one and
only thing that wakes you and
pain is all that reminds you you’re alive - even
quicksand appears to be a better end than
ricocheting bullets that leave nothing but
scars behind as you slowly begin to lose
track of who you are as you cling to the
up-sides of life. You spend your time
veering to find yourself as you impatiently
wait for that moment when the
x-ray comes back saying that
“You are who you are not” not a
zealot or a soldier but….