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I Was in Vietnam Last Night |
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I was in Vietnam last night;
I know, for when I
awoke, I had cried.
I suppose the reason was because
someone I knew had died.
The thoughts I'd kept at bay
all day
grew like noxious weeds and bloomed,
and the
aroma that they gave off
carried the scent of impending
doom:
The smell of rotting jungle plants,
the
pungent odor of nouc mam,
the acrid stink of powder
smoke,
mingled with the reek of napalm,
slowly
filled my nostrils
as memories were evoked
of
firefights, Dustoffs, air strikes,
and drifting, colored
smoke...
I heard a guitar softly strummed;
I was
holding a rusty can of beer.
For a time the war faded
back a bit,
along with the ever-present fear.
My
thoughts shifted across the seas
to that other life I
knew:
tinkering with cars, going on dates,
and hanging
out drinking brew.
I wondered if I could ever be part
of those carefree days once again
when thoughts of death
never crossed
my mind... I was immortal then.
It
seems I grew up all at once,
learned things I never
wanted to know;
last night old ghosts came drifting back,
like softly falling snow...
And they chilled the
nighttime hours
when I should've been sound asleep,
crept into my ears, stole up my nose,
and caused my eyes
to weep.
I was in Vietnam last night,
where my
youth suddenly came to an end.
Along with peace and
tranquility,
and some very special friends. |
By
Thurman P. Woodfork
Copyright 2004
Listed
February 2, 2011 |
For my friends, Dave
Stevenson
and Ray Greiner, who sometimes
travel afar
at night |
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