© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
In a strange land, in a far-off sea, ships set sail to scar man and earth.
When diplomacy fails, shattering hopes for peace, hate propels war’s unwanted birth.
Months and years of mock exercise and drills to check complete.
To prepare for a war that may never come, but is born when tyranny’s unleashed.
On that tearful day when soldiers called, break formation to say goodbye.
Children rush out to clutch soldier’s legs, tremble, and start to cry.
But soldiers know, they have to go, to keep play soldiers safe.
From yet another tyranny, in yet, another place.
On embattled shores where fallen foes and heroes fiercely fight.
The battle ground will be sanctified by those who die that night.
Through the grime, and with sweat, and with blood, and with tears.
Through the horror of war, many frozen with fear.
From battle to battle, fighting shore to shore.
Nothing escapes from the hands of war.
Men killing men with all of their might.
Unchain a bomb with a blinding light.
When a long, brutal war finally ends - claiming it’s broken and countless dead.
The boys that charged as a spirited godsend - return dazed, war hardened, iron men.
And when some soldiers come home, they’re never quite the same.
Because their silent war rages on, every night and every day.
On Veteran’s day with the cheering crowds and the waving flags.
They celebrate the soldier’s sacrifice in a very special way.
But a soldier’s mind is just a flash away.
To a place called Hell where they died that day.
Now, with the soldiers worn and their bodies bent.
A once embattled foe has become a friend.
And when the day comes, to blow the final taps for all.
The old units will be lined up and ready - for the last roll call.
Readers: I wrote this poem for my father - Henry A. Sularz. Authored in 2009, I dedicated this to my Father, Henry Sularz, earlier that year. He served in WWII and fought against the Japanese from island to island in the Pacific. He came home in one piece, but he was a changed man from the experience. He died on his 87 birthday – August 16th, 2009. Four months before my Father died, he read "Soldiers Called". His only tearful response to me was - "Jim, you got it right." "Soldiers Called" has been accepted into the national archives at the American WWII Museum and at the Imperial War Museum in London.
This poem also stands as a tribute to all soldiers everywhere that have fought in war and the horrific experience they all endured. War is the most senseless event in Mankind's history. Unfortunately, it has defined us as a species for thousands of years and continues to do so, to this very day. When will we learn?
Jim Sularz