| The Blood On the Sand |  |
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Thousands of young men, American's true,
Were out to avenge the red, white and blue.
Some had been drafted and some volunteered,
They left their hometowns �mid cheering and tears.
To train at San D, or on Parris Isle,
Then head further west, �cross thousands of miles.
Sailing in vessels of all shapes and size,
Destined for somewhere �neath Rising Sun skies.
UDT "Frogmen" swam up to the shore.
They may have been first, but there'd soon be more.
Checking the landings; "Blue", "Yellow", "Red", "Green",
Soon to be crowded with U.S. Marines.
Fourteen and sixteen-inch battleship guns
Fired at Six forty, "D-day" had begun.
Fighters and bombers swooped down from on high,
Death and destruction rained down from the sky.
Marines climbed in "DUCKS" and floating Amtracs,
For some this assault would be first and last.
They circled around then formed up on line.
They first touched the beach at Eight fifty-nine.
Japs in pillboxes and hidden in caves,
Waiting and watching Marines land in waves.
Silence gave way to a terrible din
As guns opened fire on wary young men.
Some called for corpsmen to give them some aid.
Others were motionless, dead where they lay.
Darkness brought horror unseen in the night
Parachute flares burned with weird glowing light.
Waves pound the beaches and shells pound Marines.
No mercy given to man or machine.
Dozers and tank blades lay steel Marston mats
Up from the surf through the volcanic ash.
Trenches and tunnels were hidden from view.
Men were cut down, but from where, no one knew.
Locate a bunker and squirt in napalm
Nothing can breathe when the oxygen's gone.
Every square inch of the island was bought
With courage and blood, a terrible cost.
"Uncommon valor..." was there all around,
Almost six thousand were laid in the ground.
Few things remain from that war long ago.
Buried Marines were dug up and sent home.
Scars on the island have been healed by time.
Everything hidden and covered with vines.
Young Marines come here and stare at the place
Up on the mountain where hist'ry was made.
The mountain-top flag has long since been gone.
The battle is o'er, the war has been won.
A sulfurous smell still hangs in the air.
Some say ghost soldiers still walk the beach there.
The blood on the sand has been washed away,
By rains from above and blue ocean waves.
What was it like then, to land on this beach?
To face the unknown with fellow Marines?
Nervous and fearful of what lay ahead.
Hoping and praying you don't end up dead.
Look at the pictures they made on that day.
Moments in time shot in black, white and gray.
Scenes of destruction, of mayhem and death,
Victory, glory and medals on chests.
Listen to stories from those who were there,
Young once, now older, with gray colored hair.
Pay close attention, the truth they will tell.
How Tokyo rose, and Tokyo fell. | By Ken B. Harper
Copyright 2009
Listed June 29, 2009 |
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