You will always have less trouble with a snake in a towsack than a man in a robe

Archive for the ‘War Wounds’ Category

Our Memorial Day

As a Vietnam veteran it is heartwarming to see the annual outpouring of support for those who died in the service of our nation….several were friends of mine. The difference between this Memorial Day and the ones of the sixties and seventies is stark. Were the sacrifices of Vietnam Vets of lesser value because our nation was caught up in a terrible social upheaval…or because the Vietnam War was unpopular? Of course the answer is a resounding NO! We veterans get together during military/unit reunions as vets have done for hundreds of years. I doubt that the screaming, spitting hordes of war protesters we endured back then have reunions. At least I have never heard of one. So what contributed to the awakening of gratitude we see today? These two wars are becoming unpopular and our Nation is more evenly divided politically than it was then.

I don’t have the answer but I suspect it lies somewhere in a growing number of patriotic Americans who refuse to allow the military and our lost brothers and sisters to be scapegoated. College campuses are no longer the hotbed of social resistance they once were. The professors with their tweed jackets and Che tee shirts are no longer the cornerstones of political upheaval. We get our commentary from a huge variety of sources and everyone can find a “place” where their ideas harmonize with others.

We shall continue to disagree but we will not use the graves of those who died for this right as our battleground.

David Brockett

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Another Soldier Won’t Come Home

The lines on this marker

tell the fate of Corporal Parker

He was young, too young to die

But these lines they never lie

 

Upon the grave in this sad meadow

The fallen tears of his widow

Forever stain this granite stone

Billy Parker please come home

 

And on the grass entwined together

two faded roses will forever

mark the dreams war took away

and the price two lovers paid

 

Between these lines there was a Life

A Mother, Father and a Wife

Now it’s all been sacrificed

Another soldier won’t come home

Shallow lines on polished stone

Shallow lines on polished stone

Each a story of its own

Each a Man, a man’s Life

Reduced to the marks of a carver’s knife

Place your ear against the stone

Hear the screams and hear the moans

Of Souls and Bodies torn apart

Suspended in that awful Dark

Now let your fingers trace these lines

Follow me back in time

Mothers, Fathers, Wives who mourn

Little Children’s lives are torn

So now you understand my grief

Share my rage, my disbelief

You’ve seen my fallen Brothers’ Pall

And traced their names upon this Wall

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