Soldier

"My buddies always warned me: 'Don't get grounded; once you're grounded, you're done for.' Well, they grounded me, too. Too many rear-gunners in the service. I didn't want to come home. What's civilian life? Good for old maids. It's a rut. It's a drab. Look at this: the young girls giggle, giggle at nothing. The boys are after me. Nothing ever happens. They don't laugh hard, they don't yell. They don't get hurt, and they don't die, and they don't laugh either...
....I wish I were there now, drinking with them, flying, seeing new countries, new faces, sleeping in the desert, feeling you may die any moment and so must drink fast, and fight hard, and laugh hard."

Poetry won't come out right. I am too grounded. Is that what being an adult is? Being too grounded for any beauty and passion and pain to come out of you? I feel like a soldier who has returned from war. Constantly.