Casualty (poem)

Dear soldier,  told to go without knowing fully what's in store.  
The ones that know sit high above, drinking their favorite drinks wearing their suits,  treating the conflict as a chore. 
They mold objectives and pass them down,  never hearing the sound of a mortar fly,  or a soldier die fighting enemies that surround. 
They don't fully understand what will happen to your mind if you survive.   Maimed,  untouched,  or revived; lucky to be alive. 
Who's luck is this that takes the very sanity of us,  shakes our core?  Some of us go more than once,  twice,  three times,  four.  
We know now the toll,  we tell all the young ones we see what's in store.   Prepare to change completely,  every soldier that fights is a casualty of war.