Member-only story
The Effect of War on a Soldiers Soul
One day he was choosing
which college to attend
when the government took
that choice away.
His belly felt the slime of mud
until he was
no longer sure
just what his color was.
There was no time for marrying
a tuxedo traded for Army green
memory of her the only thing
that helped keep his sanity.
At night he prayed for dreamless sleep
not this nightmare collage of blood
flesh and shards of bone
soldiers turned into carrion
from mines, mortars, and artillery.
Would he be the next to die
he no longer cared
because in the end he knew
there is no going home again.
He no longer cried when fellow soldiers died
they were the lucky ones
freed from horrors seen each endless day.
Time can never measure
his years for he became
a disillusioned tired old man
at twenty-three.
Authors Note: I came of age during Viet Nam in the sixties seeing film footage on the evening news, in Life Magazine, and stories from a man I met when I was in junior high school in the late 1960's. My English professor spoke of going into the classroom when teaching at OU to find empty desks because of the draft. This is a reflection of what I learned
