Tie your shuka on your shoulder
Gather your shield and spear of death
The white God for now you are to soldier
Find your courage and take one last deep breath.

You thought war was made of
Those things that you gathered,
You were wrong, so we shoved
A gun and ammo for you to lather.

This is your duty, and that's what you believe  
This is your duty, go out and try not to bleed
This is your duty, and that of thy enemies.

You held the gun like we showed
You walked to the place we told
You believed the lies we sold
All while wearing the white man's blindfold.

With a smile and a glimmer of hope
The men you sought
Found you first
And now you rest
Under the dry dirt.

But that's ok for they
Were only shooting
In the name of Duty,
So Hooray!

The person who looks me in the eye, and can see past my lies
The person who is a true ally
A person in which presents all worries dies
The person who I owe a shoulder
A person I would fight with as a brother, and soldier
The person who is a real beholder
I can never let our friendship grow colder


I will miss my friend
But not before we are past the end.

Revolution is led by the young
The battle of oppression is near.
Freedom bells have rung
We've suppressed our fear.

and we die... as you observe and meet
and they die... while you drag your feet

The world watches our blood,
as it flows through the streets.
Politicians clean their hands,
with our defeat.

and we die... while you negotiate peace
and they die... by the hands of our own police
This suffrage for toleration has come too far to unwind.
Seems like a no win situation,
unless you emancipate your mind.

and we die... while you sit and debate
and they die... watching their women *****

The struggle against tyranny will continue,
until our dreams are realized.
My town, your village, whatever the venue,
our liberation musn't be compromised.

and we die... to be honored by the freed
and we've died... martyrs
our last breath singing nasheed

TG
Summer

PTSD 22

Piercing through that troubled gaze
The fields of war fill the vacant stare
Search for peace through the combat haze
Desperate for darkness back “over there”

Pondering fear of a lifetime ago
The desert’s pain fills the empty boots
Still at war, for peace they go
Down in hallowed ground, 21 gun salutes

Pour one more strong for the 22 a day
The men of war can take some more
Saint Peter’s gates open to light the way
Defenders of peace only brave this door

Place your battle outside on the floor
To the warriors’ home in vallhalla’s hall
Soldiers only, long after their war
Day after day, salute 22 More

Chester Michaels

Out stretching
Out reaching
The callused, bleeding hands
Of tightly gripping on.

The permantly furrowed brow,
Weathering a face which has seen too much.
The innocent eyes try,
But are clouded over.

His everyday grows like a plane
flying over
Dunkirk dawn
Guns drawn.

His green home
Of west is best
And his voice would flow
With a carefree blow

which has blown
to fragments.

His streets turned red
When in November they would tred
To remember
Those who bled
Now they are only spotted

Every year dearer
Washing away.

Troubled is the heaviness still brewing from the feud,
As you chew upon the bitterness that our fathers have fed you,
Bent and burdened shoulders cannot accept embrace,
So I beg you, my beloved brothers, let me bear some weight.

The series of gunshots
The smell of fire
The dead men who fought
The smell of war

In the midst was an injured man
Who sought cover behind a plank
And shot at his foes blindly as long as he can
Because they were loading a tank

Back home he had a child
Back home he had a wife
So he didn't want to die;
He just wanted to survive

He missed his wife's smile
He missed his son's laughter
The thought of dying
Made his face falter

His finger continuously pulled the trigger
Until he heard it click
He swore as he realized he was out of ammo
Fate truly was sick

But his thoughts ended abruptly
Just like his life
He fell backwards harshly -
A bullet hole between his eyes

The man was a real hard man often described in lower class words
By those who feared or respected or envied him
He was from Scotland and fought the Chinese Communists in Cambodia
In a backwater of the world that became a Cold War hotspot
For next door was Vietnam and the commies there fought the other commies
In a war that enveloped the area destruction on destruction
War happened and soldiers were deployed by all sides
Some of those troops were rather special ones
To do a special job in a ***** war where the killing wasn't clean
The hard man from Scotland was sent to a place far form his Highland home
His bagpipes were silent and stealth was his tool
Stalking ****** fighters in the Cambodian jungle
And doing what needed to be done to stop them dead
So we don't speaking Chinese now
Just like the Dead Kennedy's song that hailed a generation
Camdodian events remembered which fewer care about
The Scottish soldier is dead now but his widow remembers
It was her who told me the story of her SpecFor husband
How he played his pipes and won awards not just in battle
Him a Seargent Major Drill Instructor Full Metal Jacket style
Driving his car with his arms crossed barking orders and being the boss
Living in America with his American wife and drinking in bars
But being taken advantage of by the rednecks
In the nasty bars that wern't British pubs
More dangerous than the communist controlled Cambodian jungle
The life of the special forces soldier was certainly special
If not hush hush we don't talk about this it never happened
Except in the heads of the SAS troopers who were in Cambodia...