This was written early one morning in 1964 at Da Nang.
My sister was a Poly Sci major at Berkley
I was in the 1st ACG serving in the Republic of Viet Nam
My sister protested the war.
I fought it.
I stood above the mountain, the ragged blood soaked sod,
And thought of all the reasons man would shame his God,
I looked upon distruction, and turned my eyes away,
For what I saw that morning was ruin and decay.
One man had killed another, and was proud for what he'd done,
While a child in a uniform had a smoking empty gun.
Man made a bomb to destroy us, results we'd only guess,
The bomb build by man destroyed us, his failure was his greatest success
Now the war is o'er for some, while others still must fight,
But I pray to God no one will see what I watched all last night.
I dreamed there of a valley of friends and neighbors true,
But most of all my darling, I dreamed that night of you.
We had never met, word we never spoke,
But still the love was there, between the shells and smoke,
I dreamed there of a valley, with love and peace for all,
But in the middle of that dream, another bomb did fall
The dream it was shattered, though no more can I cry,
Empty shells of murder are all that's left of you and I
War and killing come as natural as to breathe,
But I pray to God who reigns above, that no one else will see.
I stand above the valley, and look upon decay,
But I see a world that's to come to life someday,
A world without war, with love and peace instead
For the time is coming soon,
When all men will be dead.
'tis a sad picture you paint of the future, but it seems you have good reason to.
Powerful poem. Sassoon wrote much about the brutality of war. Here's one I remembered. JP
I KNEW a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
. . . .
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
War in gereral is sad. I suggest The Butter Battle Book, a moving story with the edge that only Suess can produce!
sargirl
I can feel the pain life repeats history in a conservative forum. This is excellent continue to write the armored pen of God.
Good one, Terry, before my time on the mule.
Les