This day would be fine for hunting
The mountain air cool and clear
The stars still shinning up in the sky
As First light began to appear

I saddled up old Buckshot
Had all my riggin in place
We headed up that mountain valley
At a slow and steady pace

I love the mornings in the high country
Hooves padding over moistened ground
I stop and listen to the evening silence
Giving way to daylights sound

The far off howling of a wolf pack
Piercing the morning air
Made the hair stand up on the back of my neck
It gave me a bit of a scare

The wolf sounds getting closer
They were ghosts among the trees
A wolf pack had worked its way around me
Buckshot snorted ill at ease

The big buckskin laid his ears back
As a black wolf appeared on our trail
Its hackles up with fangs and snarl
I felt myself turn pale

It’s unusual for that canine critter
To even show itself to a man
But this brazen lot was different
This wolf pack had a plan

I pulled the rifle from my scabbard
Took aim at the big blacks head
Squeezed the trigger and felt the kick
As the bullet knocked him dead

The pack tore at me from out of the trees
I felt sure my time was done
They should have scattered and run away
They should be frightened by my gun

But it wasn’t me that they had in sight
As Buckshot reared and tossed us back
The wolves attacked their dead leader’s carcass
They tore viciously into the black

Wheeling around I dug heels to flank
Spurring old Buckshot on
But the old mount needed no coaxing
That horse was already gone

A few miles down the valley
I took old Buckshot’s head
Pulling the reins in I slowed him down
Looking back at the woods we had fled

I could hear a symphony of wolf song
As the pack once again converged
It was clear to me what had just took place
A new leader had emerged

That incident as it happened
Is forever burned into my mind
Another reminder to me that life is tough
Don’t expect nature to be kind

That’s the way of the mountains
Nature is wild, random and free
Though the old wolf met its end that day
It could have just as easily been me

DB Marsh

Why had he not gone out
This question buzzed in his head
His mind full of self doubt
His nights full of fear and of dread

Good friends they were those brave five
They had fought to the last and for what
And why was he left alive
With not a scratch not a mark not a cut

He had seen men killed in combat before
But it had never troubled him like this
It was not the blood and the gore
It was the guilt he could not dismiss

He knew what he needed to find
He knew he could not go on
Someone to help with his mind
To help before he was gone

He met her at the VA
A doctor helping the boys
She touched him with her kind way
She touched him with her poise

Finally his story released
The girl was steadfast and strong
His pain was slowly decreased
Gently she brought him along

She had helped him reconcile with his guilt
And with that she had saved this man’s life
She broke through the walls he had built
He was relieved of his pain and his strife

He now remembers with honor and pride
Crossing that hot desert sand
He understands why he hadn’t died
He had met his duties demand

DB Marsh

His entire mission was lost
Crossing the hot desert sand
For nothing came this terrible cost
To a soldier from a foreign land

They arrived on the beach at first light
Six men all young but well trained
They knew they were in for a fight
But they were told there was much to be gained

The target was real and just
“Righteous” so they had been told
The intelligence is good you can trust
Their young doubting minds were unsold

Each soldier had been down this route
Sent hunting where no value was found
But duty has trump over doubt
So here they were boots on the ground

Ingress had been done trouble free
The compound was now within reach
The plan was made all six agree
Assignments were given to each

Nothing! Not a thing to be found
The target described was not there
Six men mired on enemy ground
They had entered a trap unaware

Flesh and bone was torn into bits
Pain and fear reaching their peak
Five were lost in this battle of wits
And for one his future turned bleak

Five boy’s dead five lives lost
One now crossing the hot desert sand
His mind slowly turning to frost
Was this sacrifice….duties demand?

DB Marsh

Ishii and his band of merry doctors
Collecting all sorts of good facts
At the expense of the lives of others
With evil and heinous acts

What have you done with unit 731
Did you do it to fight with the bear
And what of the trade with the eagle you made
To give up the data learned there

Not one has been held to account for this thing
This atrocity from long ago
Pretend it’s not there denial that is
And our future we shall all forgo

And what of the three thousand
Who wanted only to save their home
******* of fact called them bandits
History leaves them alone

Beware now for the dragon has risen
On such issues its heart is of stone
Would you think that it has forgotten?
Someday you may have to atone.


DB Marsh

Shrapnel

“High velocity shards of red hot alloy
Delivered by various weapons of war
Designed to blindly maim and destroy
Leaving a legacy of blood and gore”

Fodder

“Needed to help the cannon ball
Made of expendable stuff
The most common material available
Rags and cotton fluff”

I knew a man once
You won’t believe his name
His name was Johnny Shrapnel
Fighting was his game

Johnny was a soldier
He was known across the land
He was seen on recruiting posters
Grenade and rifle in hand

Trained in the ways of combat
He could parachute from planes
He could handle any weapon
He had fought in six campaigns

Six times he was called to duty
Six timed he performed the same
Six times he wreaked pure havoc
Johnny Shrapnel earned his fame

A member of a famous unit
They wore that special beret
Young men from all across the land
Dreamed of joining that unit one day

That…… is exactly what they wanted
To stir up young men’s souls
Striking the need to show their bravery
And serve their evil goals

You see this man Johnny was a creation
Of men in high command
A tool that served a purpose
To gather fodder on demand

Johnny Shrapnel is a tool of death
He wears a cunning disguise
He speaks to young of glory
He sprinkles visions in their eyes

Young men keep your eyes wide open
Keep an open and critical mind
Don’t allow yourselves to be misused
By Johnny Shrapnel’s kind

DB Marsh