A GI'S LAST GOODBYE
You wake up in the morning to a burning sun, surprised that you are still alive. The day has just begun. It's dawn, the war goes on and on, neither side has won.
You stretch and scratch a match and wipe the mud off a watch you wore the day before to see what time you must climb out of the mud and slime to resume the killing you unwillingly have done. The watch you wear you took from a guy you watched die. the day before. You cried. You felt an ache of sadness deep inside, a wave of madness occupied the place where not so long ago you marveled at the sunrise that had that special glow that portrayed the awesome wonder of a life you used to know.
A young man broken, bent, his short life spent sleeping in the blood and mud and waking to the smell of hell that only the near dead can tell. This not so brave GI slave to the guns of war told you, "Save yourself and let your buddies die. That's what all the shooting's for. That's the reason why.
"There's no hero medal you can earn that will learn you that. Just keep a picture of your wife and kids that you shot tucked inside your hat. It's all you've got.
"What can I say or do that will tell you just what this crap of victory and democracy means to me?" He closed his eyes, listened to the cries of other guys and just before he bid goodbye he told me what it was all about. He cursed the sky and the God he once feared and revered and with the last beat of his heart he laughed sardonically and grunted out a rumbling, angry fart.
What more could be said? My friend of war was dead.
You stretch and scratch a match and wipe the mud off a watch you wore the day before to see what time you must climb out of the mud and slime to resume the killing you unwillingly have done. The watch you wear you took from a guy you watched die. the day before. You cried. You felt an ache of sadness deep inside, a wave of madness occupied the place where not so long ago you marveled at the sunrise that had that special glow that portrayed the awesome wonder of a life you used to know.
A young man broken, bent, his short life spent sleeping in the blood and mud and waking to the smell of hell that only the near dead can tell. This not so brave GI slave to the guns of war told you, "Save yourself and let your buddies die. That's what all the shooting's for. That's the reason why.
"There's no hero medal you can earn that will learn you that. Just keep a picture of your wife and kids that you shot tucked inside your hat. It's all you've got.
"What can I say or do that will tell you just what this crap of victory and democracy means to me?" He closed his eyes, listened to the cries of other guys and just before he bid goodbye he told me what it was all about. He cursed the sky and the God he once feared and revered and with the last beat of his heart he laughed sardonically and grunted out a rumbling, angry fart.
What more could be said? My friend of war was dead.
posted by Ed Weiland at 9:22 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home