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They Tell Me Its Christmas |
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They tell me its Christmas
But here I am, surrounded by perplexing enigmas
Like, would ya believe, by golly
That in this land of pain and folly
No warrior in my foxhole's really jolly...
And in Nam's motley jungle there's nary a twig of holly.
I'm dumbfounded by irreverently unholy dogmas
Silent nights filled with life or death dilemmas
We're poor little boys silently praying for our mammas
Finding no pleasure in killing fields preposterous
Where people try to kill me in the Nam blasphemous
No, nowhere to be found here is Father Christmas.
There's just us soldier boys on the big campout
Fighting in our life's greatest bout no doubt
Where all values in life painfully taught
By parents, teachers, society carefully wrought
Torn by the cruel war turned upside down
As by violent explosion asunder blown.
There are no jingle bells in the Nam's arsenal of hells
Ringing slowly, solemnly,
Like funeral knells by some Cong home boy elves
Walking their mortars into our perimeter
To joyfully bring the chance all life to surrender
But what ya gonna do, in dinky dau sweet-and-sour dew?
There's nothing to do but knuckle down
Buckle down
And do it, do it, do it...
To survive, to stay alive.
Hoping someday soon your loving family to grace
Back in the world to embrace...
Try to resume your life
Tumultuous mid war's toil and strife
Life and death teetering on the line sublime
Pride, joy gusto, fear mingle in disappointment of
discontent
Knowing you're forever changed
By war your life evermore rearranged. |
By
Gary Jacobson
Copyright 2010
Listed
December 25, 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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