By Daniel Shea © 5/25/11
Ghosts with guns charge our line,
tigers growl in the bamboo,
your brother is here.
Monsoon winds sweep the ocean
glasses fog in the fog of war.
Death taps my shoulder
shakes my sleep, shoulder is frozen in pain, …
Pain tells me, I am still alive,
t was only a dream.
Not a dream but memories long buried.
The smell of mold on a forest floor,
sky in patches of red, white and blue-green
Peep through a quilt of evergreens, palm and jungle canopies
men step silently, appear and disappear – chameleons with guns
Rush of fear and sweat, fssssssszzzzzzzt!
snipers’ aim misses its’ target and takes another
Elephant grass stained in blood, target for the M60
screams echo in the hollows of my skull
Be still not to draw attention… to our position.
compass due north, moral compass killed on arrival.
Forgotten, names carved like scars in a granite monument,
Families touch cold stone, give warmth and life to a soul once lived
Monuments to war, are graveyards to a peace that could have been.