The Photograph Poem by Phil Soar

A well worn photograph found it's way to me
Of a person from a time ago, back in history
A tired and weary soldier, sitting all alone
A look of sadness on his face, thinking of his home

No matter how I looked at him, my mind would not embrace
That emptiness inside him, that look upon his face
I couldn't help but wonder, just what he had been through
And felt a certain gratefulness, for what he'd had to do