When I met the tall and still youthful
Vietnam war veteran,
my shyness showed,
my dry throat tightened when he
softly spoke the words,
"It never goes away."
all these humanity destroying wars
never cease,
soldiers' names, faces,
etched all over Americana,
their love letters sent home
engraved on America's soul,
not always given a hero's
welcome homecoming.
Their nightmares flashing as
they wake up sweating in
their sheets in the dark,
screaming for respite from
still hearing the firefight,
still seeing the VC,
and hearing the life breaths
leaving mortally wounded
brothers,
descending into the night's
loneliness,
the blue-gray of the t.v.
on low volume,
the sobbing of a loyal wife,
some marriages, families
split apart with crushing
sadness,
many veterans homeless
on U.S. streets,
such a heartbreaking shame
shadowing over the face of
America the beautiful.
Surviving veteran's hair
becomes snow-white,
war wounds become more
arthritic,
memories of their
war buddies still sweetly
preserved in sepia images,
veteran's reunions as their
bones stiffen,
but still salute their
brothers and sisters in arms,
their hats with the name of
the war they fought in with
their brethren of the
Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines.
They stepped forward,
some of them barely out
of high school,
with brothers of the
same town, the same
state,
so much youth called
up,
joining brothers from
other U.S. regions,
blessed by God in their
fraternity, their bravery,
the deep red poppies
represent their precious
blood,
I remember the 1960's -70's
seared scars in my mind,
as my mother and I
embraced weeping for
the loss of so many of
our soldiers,
the hurt in our hearts.
MIA's, POW's,
disappeared as
aging families still
pray, still wait,
in the local
Veteran's Cemetery
I met a woman in
her eighties,
a little confused,
couldn't remember
where her son's grave
was located,
her son was a
Vietnam veteran,
she told me her
daughter in law
couldn't bear to
visit his grave,
we found his grave,
his name glistening
in the dew of that
May morning,
as wrens and sparrows
sang on blossomed boughs,
this is what peace sounds like,
a chance encounter
became such a gift
to honor her son,
and let her know
he was not forgotten,
but cherished,
Welcome Home. ~
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