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The Eyes |
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The stony eyes of a young �Nam grunt
Have the gaze of
a man too long in the hunt.
Aged eyes unblinking in that
still young face
Looking straight at you with never a
trace
Of emotion or laughter, apparently unfeeling;
Eyes of a soul that'll be a long time healing
From all
the things that he's seen and done...
The many places
fought over and won...
Then abandoned only to be
fought for again...
So what if the cost was a few of his
friends?
Or was it just about an entire platoon
That
bled and died in that damned monsoon?
The weary days
merged into soggy nights
Punctuated by murderous
firefights,
And all the while his eyes slowly aged
As
deep inside grew a smoldering rage
That might not
erupt for years and years
Or perhaps only turn into
bitter tears
That try to wash away the aching thoughts �
Piercing memories of harsh battles fought �
Memories
drowsing deep within his brain
Waiting to be roused by
the sound of rain:
Did the years ever soften those frigid
eyes?
Or did they turn inward toward the cries
Of
brothers who fell while mourning skies wept
And death
came quietly or noisily leapt
Through the chaos and fury
to bear away
His fallen comrades from the bloody fray?
I hope one day those jaded eyes close
In dreamless
sleep and peaceful repose.
May the vivid memories slowly
fade and dim
And allow those eyes to smile once again. |
By
Thurman P. Woodfork
Copyright 2004
Listed
March 8, 2011 |
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