"how could you ever think I could ever go back? how could you think any of us could go back to our dull homes, and our warm beds, when we`ve been to the very peek of the earth and back/ when we`ve spent so many mornings so many evenings declared alive by the sound of the sword, by the sent of soil, blood, and soiled blood.a midst the battle field, peace is a naive myth.
and after days of hunger, after mellow afternoons and on the verge, scorned nights driven by the soul perpous of the very idea of so many people , women, children, waiting on us, and at the end of it all I am aching, my heart longs for those days, for those men at my side when there was nothing but darkness, the beginning of darkness, the ending of darkness, the depth and surface of darkness, the sent of darkness, the taste of darkness the feel of darkness.
when the remnants of a distant illuminating, lonesome star was the reason any of us could hope, how can you think I could smile when my days consist of coffee and toast and the morning paper?"
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