The speaker is a veteran looking back on war and feeling that something essential in him did not survive it. "My honor died" is a blunt, almost flat statement, as if he has stopped arguing with it. The next lines turn to a question about fairness: why give to "those people" and deny to others? The poem doesn't say what is given or withheld, so the reader has to sense the bitterness without a clear target. It might be about who gets help, recognition, or mercy, but the poem leaves that open.
Then comes a wish, "If I could come home to my wife…", which trails off unfinished. Home seems out of reach even if he is physically back. The closing image, sitting with his hurt "all out of Sundays," suggests a man with no rest, no ritual, and perhaps no comfort left. The mood is bleak, tired, and lonely. The short, plain lines make the pain feel quiet and heavy rather than dramatic.