Knowledge wakes up my dome with bombs thrown down my street.
I wake up, lost in dust & gun shells
" Shhhh. Be quite. "
As the sound of 1000 soldiers stomp across my heart.
Time stood still.
As my mom gets snatched right in front of me
" MOM, MOM, PLEASE don't take her away!"
I try to get one final word
"I love you. "
But it's heard on the bullet that went threw her brain.
Because of that,
I will never be the same.
America took away the one I adore.
For what. ?
All because of this war. ?
Just because my mom dressed in a long robe that hides her face?
Means she's hiding a terrorist in this place?
Is ready to enbattle vengeance on the American race.
These open wounds won't stop these open minded bombs
Won't reverse time
These open eyes
Won't stop the flashbacks
" STRAY BULLET! ".
And these soilders,
Won't stop this WAR.
We stride in a faultless line
Heroism at our shoulders
And pride reflecting from
The things we come across
As the horrendous
Monster of Fate
Tends to intervene.
Despite the dreary, odious
We keep marching on.
As we strode, I saw
The poor sought salvation
And Dreamer’s hopes
Were evaporated to dust.
But nevermind what we saw
Nevermind reality; it’s inevitable
So, we keep marching on.
We walk along deserted
Paths, overflowing with
And not many stayed
For the march.
One by one they ran, fear striking them in
This cycle continued until I walked alone.
But, I kept marching on.
In every place dark: evil, corroded and stark,
In every place dark: where all good has fallen apart,
Even in landmarks of evil, devoid of our hearts,
Light finds a way to light a spark.
In places where darkness lingers, life loses and withers,
Where even Nature is rotten, full of thorns and splinters,
Where all is void of warmth, covered by eternal stormish winters,
Somehow, a spark arrives, breaking all that hinders.
Even if Light is in a far away place,
Even if our world has failed, shamed and disgraced.
Even if all life and spirit has fallen or wilted,
A spark arrives, balance has tilted.
In every place dark, In every place evil:
Where darkness has conquered since time primeval,
Even where all which lurks, twisted, flawed and dark,
Be the light there, be that spark.
They've given all as war raged on,
they gave their best each day;
They fought to free each one of us,
to see 'ole glory wave!
They stood so strong, so proud and tall,
our freedom to defend;
That son or daughter, mom or dad,
that husband, wife, or friend!
Though young or old, some rich or poor,
each answered beckon call;
They fought to let our freedom ring,
each soldier gave their all!
The ones that fell, who now have passed,
who paid the bigger price;
Left loved ones here with broken hearts,
still lost in silent cries!
Then ones still here, so many ways
the war has left it's mark;
With scars and shattered dreams they have,
so many broken hearts!
I take the time to pen these words,
to stand up to my feet,
Saluting every one who've fought,
the few, OUR BRAVE ELITE!!
Crosses white, poppies red,
Remember how, remember when
Pale petals fell from blooming roses,
And padded paths where freedom goes.
Fierce fires doused a would be hate,
To quench dry hearts, yours and mine.
Their love and duty burned paper chains
That shackled in war time.
Wise eyes, bright minds, aged souls, young hearts,
Traded rockers for grassy beds;
Gave up gray for blue-black youth,
Now honoured among the dead.
The rose that's guarded by the thorn,
Against the reach of many hands,
Does the same in all God's lands:
Yet still the life sap flows.
This time of year is here again,
But remember how, remember when
Fading pulses played taps then.
Remembrance Day must never end.
Hands like soldiers in the night
Wanting something better
Than the rumours of the world
Listen to the beat
The stamping feet
The parade rhythm of life
Tearing us asunder
The kind of etheric dance
That makes you stay up
Late at night with wonder
Becomes a bullet
I hold my breath
Hearing you near
No more fear
As the flames and smoky fire
Consume our souls
We melt the wire...
Yet still a connection stands
Electric voice screams
A heartfelt song,
Carried across victorious lands
Singing 'we will never forget you...'
Afterward, fumes fill the air
Birds sing along the creek
Silence crashes like symbols
As I read your last words
'We only depart to meet...'
a stranger sat in dad's chair at the head of the table,
a young soldier wrapped in bandages that leaked body fluid,
a possessed spectral that stared at the stuffing and gravy
on the Thanksgiving plate like a foreign
object he'd lost familiarity with, me wondering,
if dad might be home for Christmas
he was about the same age as mother,
though most veterans I'd seen seemed older,
as if they'd lost the map to heaven
and needed someone to
come along and help them find it
white gauze wound around his head,
so that only holes for his mouth and
faraway eyes showed,
the feeding utensils as obscure
to him as the blue sky outside
and when the day began to run out,
the serviceman's mind engaged in a different war
more bazaar than eating,
he said nothing when mother picked up a spoon
and fed him the way I would my dolls
Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2014
The sun was maliciously hot that day in June.
The heat swelled his dusty wounds
Still raw from crawling-
He circumvented the Taliban
Dragging his rifle through the grass:
Who’s the soldier now my son,
Who is carrying a gun?
Don’t be afraid, the war has just begun.
Go out there and have fun!
From where the river ran
Closer to the camp the insurgents crawled
Lugging their layered forms over rock in the gristle-dry
Pissed on by goats.
The sun’s grinding rays
Scraped his eyes like brillo-pads
Pulling his hat down, he settled behind the tumbledown scree.
He adjusted the sights.
Across his outstretched legs lizards scurried.
The mortars fell like hiccups exploding from the gut.
The mortars tore up bodies throwing them before the wind.
The mortars cried burrowing through the air.
Who’s the soldier now my son,
Who has a gun?
Kill beneath the leering sun-
Get out there and have some fun.
Darkness before midday-
Of mind and intent.
The mountains hold their own soulless
Secrets that only religion can shape-
The soldier who murders for religion
Is crueller than the soldier who murders for money.
He knew who to kill.
Not why. He knew how to kill
Not the reasons for refusing!
He slowly, quietly, pulled the trigger,
The bullet burst out whining across the crumbling landscape, its course pre-ordained, its end
As complete as death. Death was its end
In a soft cry of expiration.
No heaven met, no god examined, no concluding prayer, no final evaluation, no joy, no experience!
A dead man in the dust!
A dead man-dust to dust!
By dinner Dave had reached the camp again
Without much trouble.
He’d been spotted once by a woman washing clothes in a mountain stream, her eyes fixed upon him
For a moment, full of contempt.
A gun, my son, a gun
Have some fun,
With the gun, my son, the gun.
Pop, pop. Yet another gone!
“Got him with one shot. Well done,
Old son. Got him with a single shot.”
The colonel was full of praise. Downing a vodka, he
Picked at the pineapple cube on his dish,
And crushed it between his busy fingers.
An intelligent man, but a soldier too,
A poet at times whose words clawed at his memories, paying pale homage.
“You are a marvel, young man.
Four this week. Well done.”
The overhead fan twirled noisily,
Clashing with his redundant pride,
Giving meaning to a pointless war
In a torrid land full of becalmed ideas and underlying prayer.
“I’ll write a commendation for you,
Young man. You deserve it.”
The colonel continued, basking on olives.
“Your skill with the gun
Is astonishing. You deal death like
Other’s write poems. You destroy
With a well-balanced phrase. There is beauty
In your honed and natural talent.”
Others slapped his back as he passed
Beaming with approval, lavish with praise,
Expressive with congratulation. At that point,
In that shell-tight room, he felt himself a hero
An Achilles, an Odysseus, a haunted Vietnam veteran.
When the wind broke, rivers sidled up the canyon walls
Immersed in the valley. The sun glowered
Scattered around the shattered jeeps
Expelled their contents-
Broken and dismembered.
Triggered mines exploded one by one
In hellish sequence,
Flames of cooked air
Tearing wantonly into flesh.
His rifle lay embedded in his hand.
Time, my son, time for fun
So pick up your gun
Pick up your gun and run
Time for fun!
The colonel wrote sadly
Of an incident sparing all ugly details,
Of those who died that day
In a minute of bloody confusion.
He spared the ugly details
Vividly describing heroic deaths in the wadi
Of men he’d known well.
The Officer’s Mess was silent-
No jokes were cracked, no backs,
Slapped, no congratulations expressed.
In contemplation the soldiers read, studied form, thought about their families,
Trying, even in solitude, not to die.
Outside the camp walls, demolished by the heat,
Caricatured by flies,
The child’s motionless body lay
The child dispatched by a sniper’s clean bullet, slumbering
In the dirt.
Leave the gun, my son, leave the gun,
You’ve had your fun!
Leave the gun, my son, leave the gun
Your short life’s work is done!
Where are our soldiers
Where can they be?
Fighting the wrong war
Over the sea
They should be here
Protecting the red white and blue
Keep our country together,
To be our glue
People are taking a knee
Not to disrespect
But hoping our soldiers will see - that
The innocents are dying
The kids are crying
The corrupt are lying
The government is undermining
So say goodbye
Because without our soldiers
Our country will die
Co-author: Samantha Gordon