[asylum]

it was a hard life for the Bauers in their farm house,
but they remained proud as most Germans did,
learned to live on little, took no more than they'd give,
Lars grew quick to be the biggest kid on the block,
top of his class and quick to throw fists rather than talk,
his mother sewed their clothes while father sowed his seed,
each with their own clothing printed with their names to read..
he didn't need to explain his need to join the forces when the foreign swarms hit,
simply formed into the caste his needs dictated,
skipped chasin tail and moved to set sail with the powers that be,
left a taste in the mouth sour, but it seemed,
to erase his need to be someone besides himself,
and in the depths he delved.. off the continents shelf..
when bombs dropped from above he held onto memories he loved,
guiding thoughts with bullets through skulls of each victim,
his conscription led through each depiction of hell he embodied,
and he led it oddly enough, to the best of his abilities,
seeking tranquility in each tank shells explosion,
he sunk deeper into his own hell, their erosion..
dug deep inside his mind while he resided in France,
by chance caught hint of the local resistance,
that filled shelters with a lover Lisa had known,
with his own rounds that hit and shattered their home,
a friend gathered the known items from inside their lair,
passed a piece of fabric to him, it's meaning leading to despair,
Lisa Bauer read the name inscripted on it's bottom half,
dotted with blood from ones they'd killed, only a rotten laugh,
before he lost himself.. seeking violence in every moment,
he's placed on the Eastern front to unleash his begotten components,
they choked on their own blood, withered and died,
while the snake of the demons he owned slithered inside,
the mind can only take so much, most figure with pride,
but Lars kept going, throwing his fist into dead faces,
dead in most places, stabbing flesh with every last forgotten breath,
he stopped and slept.. in a farmhouse from the time of Napolean,
under foreign control again, done paying it's toll for men,
when Lars awoken next, to a letter long left in his breast pocket,
he read words his sister wrote from home, their crest on top it..
as the cold stopped his heart and he saw the sun through a sodden roof..
spreading light onto the truth he held so close, yet so far from himself,
"Lars, I helped your enemy for a time, but headed home at the first chance,
please come back, we need your strong hand,"
was read as his own uncurled, and the letter dropped silently to the land..