By that time, I was not known to the world.
This type of warfare only known to me by textbook.
Where thoughts of death whirled,
And with every shot the world shook.

One of those soldiers is now my great grandfather,
Scarred in remembrance of those old times.
Asking about it seems to be a bother,
But the thoughts of it always seem to sublime.

As he grows old in age, the reaper surely comes for him;
In his honor and memory, he handed me his aviators.
As I look through them, they look dim;
Looking through the lenses of a navigator.

Through those aviators that were too big for my face,
I imagined everything he must've seen through them.
Watching soldiers walk into their fates,
The fall of his friends forever condemned.

In those sunglasses, I imagined him in the bombers,
Flying high above the enemy.
Every day it got further and further from calmer,
Every soldier that died had his own legacy.

Such a powerful feeling comes over me,
Looking through those glasses.
Thinking of all the things he'd see,
Standing among the rubble and the ashes.

My great grandfather is the strongest person I know,
Staying sane through all of the death and destruction.
The thoughts of it still pains him though,
But never becomes his own obstruction.

Through those big old aviators, I saw his past.
I felt the chaos all around me,
Feeling the bombs and their blasts,
An amazing bygone I foresee.