Tragedy of War

One day he was choosing

which college to attend

when the government and U.S. mail

took that choice away.

His belly felt the slime of mud

until

he was no longer sure

what his color was.

There was no time for his wedding

tuxedo traded for Army green

memory of her the only thing

that kept him sane.

At night he prayed for dreamless sleep

not this nightmare collage of blood

flesh and shards of bone

from fellow soldiers

turned into carrion by mines

mortars

booby traps and guns.

Would he be the next to die

he no longer cared

because in the end he knew

there is no going home again.

He no longer cried when fellow soldiers died

they were the lucky ones

released from the horrors seen each endless day.

Time can never be measured

in years for he became

a disillusioned tired old man

at twenty-one.

Authors Note: In the U.S. Army in the early seventies as the Viet Nam Conflict was winding down I was serving in Germany with Seventh Army. Not only did I hear stories of World War II from older townspeople, I heard them from Germans working on post in the transportation office with me. But I had also come of age during the middle of the conflict and was regaled with film footage on the evening news and in Life Magazine, I also heard from those returning home to Wichita, KS when I was in junior high school in the early to mid 1960's. The professor who taught Journalism, English/Literature and Creative Writing told us about going into the classrooms when she taught at Oklahoma University to find students missing because they had been drafted. This poem reflects what I learned about Viet Nam and World War II and which applies to all wars. And why the fascist undertones overtaking the far right extremism plaguing this country scares me to death.

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