A far away look sets him apart.
Memories of war still tear at his heart.
No John Wayne for him for he knows the score.
The rich start the wars and sacrifice the poor.
Empty of pocket, they go to war.
They bleed all their blood and exist no more.
O, God not me, face down in the mud.
Can't see my buddies, eyes closed with blood.
Can't seem to move from where I lay.
Nothing seems close, so far away.
Can't seem to breath, can't catch my breath.
Could it be so young, so close to death.
It's getting dark, I feel so weak.
I open my mouth, but cannot speak.
They grab my big toe, and put on the tag.
The last thing I hear is the zipping bag.

Dennis Husereau - 2nd/502nd "D" 68/69
dhusereau@aol.com