The Eyes of a Soldier

I wrote this as a freshman and it clearly has errors. Definitely could be a lot better.

 

            I always knew a solder when I saw one.  There was something about their eyes that just wasn’t present in a normal man’s eyes.  Perhaps it was the years of war and of torture that reflected through their cold, hopeless eyes.  It was through these eyes that you could tell just how much pain and suffering the man had actually gone through during the war.  They had the tired, weary look of a soldier that had witnessed a murder a thousand times over.  They had the dark look of someone whose only instinct was to pull a trigger and to throw a grenade.  The eyes were the distinguishing factor between a man and a soldier.  They bore into me like a drill, encasing my thoughts in that of their own.  The feeling was horrible, but the experiences were a thousand times worse.  The eyes of a soldier were unmistakably haunted by the ghosts of the past.  The eyes of a soldier clearly carried the weight of a thousand other soldiers, all killed by the owner of the eyes.  The constant fear of death still lingered in the cold, hard eyes of a soldier.  The eyes of a soldier, of a real man, were distraught by the poisons of war.  The eyes of a soldier were destroyed by the tides of a war.  The eyes of a soldier would never be the same.  The eyes of a soldier would always be haunted, now and forever.  The eyes of a soldier would know peace only in death’s escape.  The eyes of a soldier were lost to the world, unable to be found.  These were the eyes of a true man.