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We Want Them Home |
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Worst among unscrupulous complaints, old but new,
America did in the Vietnam War
Consider the plight of the POW!
Who suffered things we most vehemently abhor
Abandoning our own, a most dishonorable thing
Unprincipled things talked about,
The most unethical thing
Cried about,
Venal things vilely cussed
And wickedly discussed.
 America's sons were by America spurned,
Forsaken by very thought and deed of freedom
Boys buried in the heart of enemies, forever chained
Haunted by a nation that left them
That suspended dashing bright hopes forever abandoned,
Young princes in tumultuous storm left behind
Betrayed by amoral politicians their people dismayed,
Boys so young, so trusting of mind
Sadly watching their countrymen di-di-mau go
Crying, seeing their fatherland cut and run so.
How could we to our boys do such a thing
Such a discordant song sing?
Did we think we could annul
Their very existence
Abandon and leave them,
Wash our hands in blatant indifference
Leaving behind decaying hearts burning,
For fond release yearning...
All the while a cold, hardhearted country knowing
What they were doing
Callously set about their son's memory aborting?
In a far away land by the South China Sea,
Fathers, brothers, sons, cry mournfully
Weeping and wailing, hear now their sore plea
When realization hits them square in the eye
The cruelest cut of all from this land of the free,
Is we left them behind... with enemies to die
Left them in harrowing pain to perish.
Slavery will, America's precepts punish
In a flagging POW's heart abolish
Crush brave liberty, POW's with all being cherish.
Indifferent politicians, sacrificed our boys to war's
machinations
Resigned our brother's fate to malicious evil contrary
Their bright future disinherited, the leaders of the nations
Squashing spirits by a cruel adversary
Leaving sacrificed souls to rot and rust
Pride pummeled into crumbling, blinding
Primordial time's dust
All the good within them withering, moldering.
But who is at fault,
Who into wounds bitter defeat poured galling salt?
America... warriors never thought we'd ever leave
Our own behind...
Yet by faint dimming light of malevolent day,
Corrupt politicians left our forsaken son's behind...
These despairing, forgotten warriors, America did betray
POW's by a country they loved more than life, abused
Tortured, tormented, confused,
Arbitrarily refused,
Children of our Uncle Sam to the very core shocked
Their very world rocked.
Soldiers lost in that wild green country
Barren, alone, in despair, traumatically deserted
Forsaken are the fading sons of history
As a jungle's variegated leaves we defoliated
Wretched fading glory
Cast off in wild harsh suffering
Rescue them from this world of harms
Bearing long the stripes and beating
Restore them to a nation's loving arms
Far from captors laughing of America defeating.
We Want Them Home
Though America's gone on to new fighting,
Gone on to seek new glories
Our warrior's now telling
Different war stories
Giving anew their pledging,
To honor new dead and dying memories
For there is little now to deter
Not with current haunting problems begotten
Freedom again tied up in knots all a blur
Old soldiers, in their misery, long since forgotten...
Treated as � if � they � never � were!
If they've died... never forget
Those who left them agonized in chains of bondage chide
The very Prince of Peace, without regret
Quickly may they the coming of the Lord abide
Grant those who suffered, His royal diadem let
Welcome home, anguished POW brothers,
Suffer the Lord, Supernal aid and comfort give
Receive paradisiacal awards surpassing all others
Marvelous works and a wonder for eternity to live
Secure thy reward in heaven's superlative. |
By
Gary Jacobson
Copyright 2002
Listed
December 8, 2010 |
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About
Author...
In 1966-67, Gary Jacobson served with B Co
2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry in Vietnam as a combat infantryman and is the recipient of the Purple
Heart.
Gary, who resides in Idaho writes stories he
hopes are never forgotten, perhaps compelled by
a Vietnamese legend that says, "All poets are
full of silver threads that rise inside them as
the moon grows large." So Gary says he
writes because "It is that these silver
threads are words poking at me � I must let them
out. I must! I write for my brothers who cannot
bear to talk of what they've seen and to educate
those who haven't the foggiest idea about the
effect that the horrors of war have on
boys-next-door."
Visit Gary Jacobson's site for more information
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