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Two popular and long-established collections of  war poetry of the
First World War

Minds at War
A comprehensive
anthology of poetry of the First World War. All the greatest war poems of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon and war poems of over 70 other notable poets. All set in the context of the poets' lives and historical records. With historic photographs and cartoons.  Edited by David Roberts.
 400 pages £15-99 (UK)



Out in the Dark
Anthology of
First World War poetry recommended for students and the general reader.
19 poems by
Wilfred Owen
, 27 by Siegfried Sassoon and over 90 more war poems by 45 significant poets including women writers. Contextual information and basic notes on many poems. Illustrated.  Edited by David Roberts.
185 pages - £10-99 (UK)



Falklands War Poetry cover

War Poetry by Curtis D Bennett

Curtis D Bennett is an outstanding, modern war poet. His poems are powerful, incisive, sometimes shocking, deeply thoughtful and deeply felt. He reflects not only on his own war experience  (as an American pilot and a marine on the ground in Vietnam) but on previous, recent and current wars. Some poems develop into essays on war. He writes from experience and deep reflection. He is a voice worth listening to, a voice that should be heard. He has written six remarkable books of poetry. We are privileged to be able to present some of his poems on this website.

Some of Curtis D Bennett's poems about his war experience can be found on the Vietnam War Page. More of his poems are to be found on other pages of this website -  a small selection from his prolific output.

"I was a part of the war in Vietnam,
I went as an eager curious young man
And came back home, jaded and weary
For I learned more that one year
Than most will ever learn in a lifetime.
I saw reality, and it was ugly,
I experienced truth, and it was bitter."

Curtis D Bennett  - in "To a College Class".

Poems on this page
War Trauma
The Wake Up

Rest in Peace

To a College Class

The Becoming of a Man

Returning Home

Remember Me

Keeping the Distance

Testimony

Scars

Black and White

History of War

The Mythology of America (The US of A)

The Seduction of War

The Core of War

Quantrill’s Raid on Lawrence (August 21, 1863)

A Tale Of Two Villages  -  Oradour-Sur Glane (1944), My Lai Was Once a Small Village (1968)

Nature's War

In Memoriam

To The Wall

Healing Touch

Rest in Peace

Notes on poems are at the foot of this page
Vietnam poems page  - mainly by Curtis D Bennett

War Trauma

War drags men to the very edge
Where they shut completely down
All emotion, all caring, all feeling,
Just to survive the experience.
Impervious to pain, to suffering, to death,
They blankly assimilate war’s horrors
Then continue as wooden, human shells
Who have experienced, too much death,
Who have seen, too much destruction.
Old men in young boys' bodies
Who will never be quite the same.
For they can never, ever,
Come all the way back. Some don’t even try.
Others topple over the edge,
To remain lost there…forever.

Curtis D Bennett


The Wake Up

As the endless war in Afghanistan drags on and on,
Slowly emerging are tales of war atrocities by Americans,
By men in combat whose job is to kill other human beings,
And when they do, they tend to celebrate being alive,
Celebrate the enemy they have just killed as now dead.
The Indians of America would take “scalps,”
In Vietnam, ears of the dead were cut off,
Stored in plastic bags, like curled, dried, brown potato chips.
Reminder souvenirs of America’s triumph; of our “winning!”

In Afghanistan other photos emerged of American snipers
Pissing on the bodies of the dead enemy of Al Qaeda,
Others posing with enemy dead beneath German SS flags,
The latest photos show Americans holding up body-parts
Of dead the newly dead Afghanistan suicide bombers,
Who were trying to kill them and dying in their effort.
And who can forget the American Sergeant Robert Bales
On his 4th tour of combat, despite suffering head wounds,
Who mercilessly went out in the middle of the night,
To gun down 17 Afghanistan women and children,
In the dead of night...as they slept....

Afghanistan is a guerrilla war; a civil war; and a religious war,
To Americans, Afghans are “towel-heads,”
Any one of them could easily be a suicide bomber, a “martyr,”
Whose lives are meaningless; inconsequential; of no value,
So indiscriminate killing of the “enemy,” becomes the norm,
An acceptable reaction to perceived dangers; a survival tool.

As long as American troops are forced into multiple tours,
Multiple atrocities will continue...unabated,
For they are also put into “survival” mode, which has no rules;
Which has no boundaries; no “codes of conduct.”
For Afghanistan is an “unconventional war,”
Things like the “Geneva Convention,” are merely concepts
Of another time and another place and of another era.
Which are given lip service by the Military Leaders,
But on the ground, these go out the window; are disregarded.
Just as in most wars, today are wars that Generals,
Ranking Officers and Commanders in Chief, Never Fight In!
Those who fight return from war weary, worn out, empty,
Tired, and drained from an endless year of being on the edge.
This takes its toll, as every minute of every day one is guarded;
Suspicious, tense, walking a very fine line, a balancing act,
Knowing you can easily die at any time, at any place,
And never, even, see it coming!


One comes back from war fearful of the night, of dark,
For the dark represents the “unknown,” the unseen,
As “unknowns” are dangerous; unknowns will kill you.
One is on the precipice; cautious, suspicious of everything,
Bringing home the costly survival skills they learned
In combat, skills, skills, which kept them alive.
Yet, sudden noises startle; one steers away from crowds,
Doesn’t want anyone too close or near them,
For they trust nobody; are very leery of strangers,
They have learned the hard way, “Not to believe Nothin!’’

One is never quite the same after a year at war...
One returns from war...isolated and totally alone.
In war, one loses their innocence, their beliefs,
The National myths and traditions, which sent them to war,
Have proved false and misleading, for war has no glory,
The people they were sent to help are trying to kill them,
And do, as suddenly friends and buddies die indiscriminately;
They are there one moment, the next, they are chunks of meat
Bloody and scattered across the earth in pieces...forever dead!
It is an event no one can train for; no one can prepare for,
As deep inside you realize it is luck; it may just as well been you
Who got caught, chewed up and spit out dead...forever dead,

You would have been the one who died for what, and why?
And therein is the problem, the crisis, the predicament.
Something nobody seems to understand or can comprehend
As to why there are such problems for returning veterans,
Why they have changed their mindset; have become strangers,
Are so hard and difficult to deal with, have changed drastically,
Are no longer who they used to be; whom they will never be!
Can never again be the person they were...it is impossible.
For those who initially go to war have been conditioned;
Carefully taught and embedded in their imagination,
Regarding the patriotic glory of war, the flags waving,
Marching bands, national anthems, patriotic ceremonies,
Celebrations with fireworks and football game "fly-overs"
Ingrained in the culture as a vital part of your great country,
You were “Fighting for Freedom; for Democracy; for Liberty!”
In a noble cause to protect the homeland; your patriotic duty!


All the things our songs sing about...are forever gone.
They are reduced down to a dead, bloody friend,
Lying so still, so motionless, sprawled awkwardly,
On the foreign soil in a land so far away from his home,
Who’s sightless eyes stare unblinking into its own eternity.
Whose sad death was not heroic; not patriotic, not glorious
Rather a brutal snapshot of the horrors of war and dying
And your predominant feeling is strangely one of gladness,
A feeling of sick, jumbled, overwhelming relief
It was he, not you, who was killed and lying alone in the gore.
And for that, you will forever deal with the guilt of being alive!

All who go to war return back home changed,
Come back different; will never be the same.
For they cannot be the same, nor will they ever return,
To those wistful perfect days of youth and imagination;
Those dreamy days in an ideal world which never was,
Except in one’s desperate imagination and fanciful dreams.
Dreams, which kept one going, to get through one more day,
Which helped them make it through, just one more night!

One cannot change the past; one can only acknowledge it,
Then move on and try to leave it behind, it cannot be changed,
It cannot be different; be ignored nor disregarded,
It can only be somehow put into perspective,
And one day, it will be accepted as having happened,
Knowing that it changed you, but you survived war;
You finally “Wake Up” from the worst hell in the world,
And slowly return once more back to the living, to safety,
To a new world, which is yours to do with
As you may, and... as you choose!

Curtis D Bennett

To top of page

Rest In Peace

On a long, hot summer’s somnolent afternoon,
The towering, Kansas clouds drift soft shadows
Across golden fields of wheat below,
Bending slightly with the southern breeze.
A small graveyard sits on the slight hill
Overlooking the fields and valley below,
Watching the Kansas River, hidden in the trees,
Sparkle occasionally in the afternoon sun.

A single, dirt road leads off the main highway,
And climbs through the burial plots.
Upwards towards the high fence at the end,
Then curves around and circles the gravestones,
Of various sizes, shapes and colors, marking the dead.
It is quiet and peaceful, here, where sleep the dead,
Just the murmur of the constant, shuffling winds,
The faraway sound of a coal train clacking tracks
Echoes along the distant horizon.

There is one grey, flat stone, somewhat apart,
Which has been unattended for years,
As tall grasses surround it, the chiseled name
Fading with the aging of the stone by weather.
It is a veteran’s grave of the war in Vietnam,
Where he violently was wounded and killed in 1968,
Then returned to Kansas to sleep his endless dream.

There is a wooden stick in the ground beside the stone,
Which once held a small American flag.
The flag, this man went to war for,
This flag, this man went half way around the world for,
The flag, this man fought for in a foreign land,
The flag this man died defending,
Because it was his patriotic duty.
The flag, his family was given at the gravesite,
To honor his death, his ultimate sacrifice.
On behalf, of a “grateful” nation.

The winds and the weather have taken their toll,
The plastic red, white, and blue colors of the flag,
Has systematically been dismantled by the elements.
Now, there is only a weathered, round stick with tatters
Still standing proud in the earth by the grave,
As a reminder of who this man was…a veteran.

Whatever happened to his family, who once loved him?
To his parents, who raised him to be a good citizen?
To his brothers and sisters, who ran and played with him?
Where is his wife now, his children, his relatives?
Or the country he died for? All no longer seem to care.
For once, a man dies in combat, of what use is he?
What use is he now to anyone, or anything?
Or does it even matter anymore?

An American tradition is honoring our military dead,
Those who gave their lives in battle
On behalf of their country who asked them
To defend and fight for it; to die for it.
In a war that seemed at one time necessary,
A war against another nation and its citizenry,
A war to kill and destroy “enemy” human beings,
Who also went to war for their country,
For the same reasons as we did.
The question remains, was it worth the cost?
Is it worth young people dying for today?
And ten, twenty years from now, what is the difference, if any?

Or perhaps it is because we Americans love war,
It seems we have been in a constant state of war
Since we fought for our own independence.
We have fought the British Empire,
We have fought the French and Indians,
The war of 1812, the Barbary War,
We created a war of genocide on Indian tribes,
As we took away their land and their ancient hunting grounds,
Because we said it was our “right,” and God approved it,
It was entitled “Manifest Destiny,” or so we proclaimed.

We fought the Mexican-American War,
Then we fought each other in a “Civil” war,
Then came more Indian Wars, the Apaches, Blackfoot,
The Sioux, all the Indian tribes, then we fought the Chinese,
Then the Spanish, then the Germans in WW I,
Then again in WW II, this time including the Italians
Then we finally nuked Japan to put an end to that war now!

Then the Cold Wars with Russia, Communism and China,
After that, wars became known as “conflicts,”
Sounded a little better, like a disagreement with relatives,
The Korean “conflict,” the Vietnam “Conflict.”
But that word didn’t work, so they became “Operations.”
Like ‘Operation Desert Storm, Operation Desert Shield.”
The war in Afghanistan is “Operation Enduring Freedom.”
For Iraq, we now call it “Operation Iraqi Freedom.”
And what do all of these Wars, Conflicts and Operations,
Have in common with each other? What is the base line?
Easy, Americans die in them; killed in the name of America,
No matter how we would like to disguise them
It comes down to people with weapons killing the other,
You cannot have war without casualties; without dead people.

And all of these “Veterans,” memories will fade with time,
Each generation will become more distant from the dead,
Then sadly, in a few short years, will not be remembered,
Will not be honored, will not be recognized for their service.
But time will heal those wounds, cover up the memories,
Until all veterans’ graves will all lie lonely,
As forgotten in an unknown cemetery,
Their stones unattended; their locations forgotten with time,

Until no one knows, and nobody even cares who they were,
They have become a fading, forgotten name on a tombstone,
By an old, stick in the ground, whose flag is long gone
As is the memory of the man, the son, the soldier...
The one who is now, but a fading memory to all;
The one who selflessly gave his only life, for his country.

Curtis D Bennett

To top of page

To a College Class

I come today to speak to you
About the past and of the future.
To talk to you of war and of peace.
Once I was like you
Sitting in a classroom
Pondering unanswerable questions
With youthful confidence and strength,
My belief based on innocence,
My trust based on inexperience,
And truth was to seek out.

My generation has come and gone
To be replaced by yours.
Once a child of the 60’s
I now stand here a man of the 80’s,
Yet I can still remember
What it was like to be young,
How it felt to know tomorrow
Would always be a better day.
And all the older adults; the old farts
Were to be simply tolerated,
Friendly, but harmless,
They were just...there.

I was a part of the war in Vietnam,
I went as an eager curious young man
And came back home, jaded and weary
For I learned more that one year
Than most will ever learn in a lifetime.
I saw reality, and it was ugly,
I experienced truth, and it was bitter,
In my tour, all life’s fairytales
Exploded in that myth-shattering year
And I have never, been quite the same.

Today, the war in Vietnam
Is condensed into a few chapters
To be lightly discussed
In the History and Political Science books.
They recount the battles fought,
Of victories won; of campaigns lost,
Of dollars spent and divisive politics,
Of avoidable mistakes and misjudgements
Of indecisive, groping, failing White Houses;
Of angry, massive demonstrations and riots in the streets.

The world of Academia sometimes turns sterile,
And sometimes, conveniently leaves out the human element;
Forgets and omits, the personal tragedy.
Overlooks pain, suffering, and death.
Does not acknowledge, the human condition.
They simply reduce the Vietnam War, and other wars
Into just another short, inconsequential chapter of America,
A sordid, bitter, embarrassing experience; best forgotten.

Some books even attempt to rewrite history,
Turning Vietnam, into a noble, righteous cause.
History shows it was not the Politicians who fought that war,
It was not the Congressmen’s children who died in the mud,
Nor the sons of the rich and wealthy subjected to misery;
Nor was it the World War Two veterans or the war hawks,
Who were sent across a vast ocean, to a heretofore, unknown country
Where they would kill; where they would be killed,
For a reason no one today can recall, exactly why....

It was the common, ordinary children of America,
The kid next door, down the block, around the corner,
The ones you went to school with, went to church with.
They were the ones who fought and died in Vietnam,
It was the nineteen-year-old frightened, scared kid
Whose blood soaked into the red mud.
He was the acceptable casualty,
The expendable youth, the body count.
He, this country could afford, to lose.

These children had hopes and dreams,
They did not want to die in a faraway land!
They had futures, possibilities, all taken away.
They had their youth and health.
While others evaded, avoided, or fled,
These were drafted and sent to war.
While the privileged sons of the rich
The elite, those of the higher class got degrees,
Got married, got into business, got deferments,
Joined the National Guard or Reserves,
While their unfortunates, poorer “brothers”
Fought and bled and died horribly, far away.

There is another story of Vietnam
Which you can read; experience personally
In your quest for truth and reality.
You will see it in the VA hospitals,
You will feel it in Military cemeteries,
You will read it on Washington’s Black Wall.
And in these places is where you will find
The sombre, tragic, sober realities of war.
While the survivors of that terrible experience
Returned home, searching to regain their lost humanity.

For in war, men lose their souls!
For what they do against their fellow man
Has no definition, no rhyme, no reason!
Where the death of friends and trusted comrades
Ultimately has no meaning, no context it can be put into,
No manner it can be understood and rationalized,
No reason that can ever explain why them and not you?
And these survivors of war returned home searching
For those answers and for what they had lost in war.

But this loss, this emptiness, this frustration, this searching,
Finds no answers, no solutions, no understanding,
No justification, no meaning, no sense.
The Vietnam veteran returned home, homeless,
Rejected, outcast, despised, ostracized.
By his own country, by the very people he used to know,
As he now, personally carries the blame for his war,
As the atrocities and horrors congruent of every war,
Were forever misplaced directly on his young weary shoulders.
He was now held personally responsible,
For the war he was forced to fight;
A war in which he had no choice,
He was just another “number,” sent to war by his country
Where he was considered too young and immature to vote!

Today you, another generation of Americans
Are sitting in these same college classrooms
Asking the same, unanswerable questions.
Probing for secrets of knowledge, for learning.
Today another White House and Congress
Without regard for the Vietnam experience
With no appreciation of the lessons of war
Would send your generation to their little war,
Where once again young men will fight and die
For a Politician’s equal, ignoble, unjustified, war,
Orchestrated and based on lies and falsehoods,
That they cannot explain, cannot justify.
Instead, rely on a Political sensitive General[1] over there,
Whose answer is always, “Six more months.”

I am here today as one of many Vietnam veterans
Who has experienced combat,
Who has killed for his country,
Who has seen his countrymen killed.
I am a survivor and learned too much
About war, Government, human nature and life.
I will answer your questions as honestly
As I possibly can, just bear with me,
As I continue, the search…for my soul!

Curtis D Bennett

To top of page


The Becoming of a Man

Those returning from war are changed,
They are different; they are not the same.
Anyone who has been to war, knows this as fact,
Those who haven’t, can’t know.
But it is irrelevant, not meaningful,
To pick sides and fight about war experience,
To defend and justify your life experience.

Those veterans returning from war
Do not want to go to another one,
Do not want their children to fight one.
Do not want their country ever involved in war again!
Surely, there has to be other options!
My God, what happened to man’s ability to think?
To explore alternatives, to consider other alternatives?
War, should never be the first option,
Rather, should be considered only as the last resort.

Veterans who have been to war,
Seldom take up hunting as a sport,
For they have hunted humans,
And been hunted, neither is fun,
Neither is productive or sane.
Killing is something no one should do again,
Once they have done it once.
Might is not right, all people are human,
This is learned by personal insight, experience,
That anyone can be killed in a war,
And once dead, they are all the same.
None of them is ever coming back.
It is said, “Experience keeps a dear school,
But a fool will learn in no other.”

Veterans have all been to a life school,
And all have learned a crucial life lesson,
And having once been to war,
There is no need to go to another,
For nothing was proved by the first.
Veterans know how to be alone,
And how to survive being alone,
They have confidence in themselves,
They can handle alone; handle isolation,
And are their own, best company,
Based on the experience of being on your own,
On depending on yourself…to survive.

Most veterans think politicians are a waste,
Are not to be believed, trusted, or counted on,
For they will say anything to get elected,
And once members of Congress, forget the people
Who put them there, until it is time to run again,
Then the circus and its clowns will start their new show.
When you meet a combat veteran,
You are meeting a survivor,
Who has passed all the tests of manhood,
Has proven his mettle, his honor, his humanity,
He will forever be the warrior, the man,
For the veteran has nothing left to prove,
To anyone, anytime, anywhere…ever.

Curtis D Bennett

 

Returning Home

We returned home after a year of war,
Returning not quite the same as when we left,
For war changed us, molded us, seared us,
Turned us from innocent boys to hardened men,
From starry-eyed dreamers to hard core realists,
We found out at last, who we really were.

Our year of war had given us structure,
Gave us a sense of self-defining functions,
In our roles, in our jobs, in our lives,
We had purpose in our life, a job to do,
We had a clear and present awareness,
Of how fragile and brief life is,
And how every moment living
Is a special moment to be cherished.

There is a certain logic and order of war,
There was a grim job to do, and you did it,
You understood death was around the corner,
But you turned the corner anyhow, on your own.
There were no gray areas in combat,
The rules are simple, the outcomes variable,
And nothing, ever stays the same.
For in war, one discovers an unusual clarity,
Of how one fits into the natural order,
What is expected of their peers?
What is expected of themselves?
And it is this peer-discipline, this self-discipline
Which becomes the backbone of morale.
It is the glue that holds you all together.
War gave us a year of hard self-discipline,
Through the dark, turbulent and dangerous times.
It gave us resolve, gave us a sense of dignity,
Of respect for others with us and for ourselves.
Gave us a sense of comradery, of familiarity
With other people, we trusted with our lives.
We were as bad, as we would ever be;
We were as good, as we could ever get,
The war experience molded us, changed us,
Defined us; aged us beyond our young years,
And forever altered our perceptions of everything.
Even of who and what we were as we became adults.
For now, we could never go back to our childhood;
Could never recapture the innocence, the youth
We left on the battlefield.

War is the most personal adventure one will ever experience,
It is something no one can truly prepare for,
No one can ever teach another how to survive war,
For war quickly forces you inside yourself,
Takes you down to the very essence of yourself,
Your core being, your character; down to your very soul.

It is there, you find yourself; find out who you are.
It is where you will come to believe in yourself,
And where you ultimately learn, the hard way
To finally accept yourself just as you are;
For who you are, without any illusions,
Without apologies for what you have done to anyone!
No excuses for whom you are now;
No rationale for whom you left behind

You traveled a rocky road through a long year,
You have experienced things no one else will,
You have seen things you will never forget!
You have done things you are not that proud of,
But quickly learned to put it all, into perspective.
Wars are not something one can ever “win,”
War is something one can only, hopefully, “survive.”

Those experiencing war are changed forever.
They can never go back; never return to innocence,
They will live with what they have done
For the rest of their lives, things they cannot undo.
This is the price; the cost all veterans will pay,
For going to war in the name...of country’s pride.

Curtis D Bennett

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Remember Me

I was once the pride of this country,
The healthy, the young, the strong and brave,
Then I quickly became the acceptable casualty
In my country’s undeclared war
In the name of national interest,
A country where I was too young to vote!

I went because I was still too young
To know any better, though others
Cleverly refused or ran away to hide.
I never once dreamed my own government
Would ever lie to its own people,
But I was mistaken and they did for years.

I fought their war in a hell for one year,
Then came home and found another hell,
Awaiting from the very people and country
Who determined I go in the first place
Then their war, suddenly became mine,
And I was the convenient scapegoat!

Today, I am the broken bodies and minds
Shunted off, out of sight, behind heavy doors
Of VA hospitals and mental wards to die.
I am in wheel chairs and braces, in hospital beds;
I walk the streets; I wander the railroad tracks,
I sleep beneath the stars.

Curtis D Bennett

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Keeping the Distance

Beneath this earth young warriors sleep
Forever more, forever more,
And for what myth was it they died,
Who sent them here forever?
To bury them, so far away
From farm and village, hearth and soil?
We dare not ask of why or how,
We dare not think too hard of them!
We need not question of ourselves,
Of how we let them go so far,
So we may keep our distance safe
Can paint their pictures in our mind
Of how they sacrificed their lives;
Of how they died so willingly,
On land that did not give them birth,

Noblesse Oblige, they sleep the earth.
We know they did not wail or scream,
Nor cry nor piss their pants in fear!,
They did not spill their crimson guts
Through gaping wounds of steel-sliced flesh,
Or stare in numbness at their blood
That pulsed and squirted, stained the soil.

We know they did not weep for mother,
Nor curse their fate nor bawl in pain,
Or seek to find their missing limbs,
While dragging stumps through fiery ground,
Or smelled their own flesh, burning stench!
Nor whimpered soft through blood blind eyes,
As whistling breath through gaping throats
Shot out their life in scarlet spurts.

We do not wish them here at home
To find eternal, lasting sleep,
No, better stay in foreign lands,
Where they sacrificed their life,
No, t’is better they remain unseen,
To keep their distance and our dream
To keep them heroes, sight unseen,

For sure, they died as noble men,
Not terror-stricken sons and boys,
For if this myth were proved untrue,
How could we ever face ourselves?
How could we ever…be so cruel?

Curtis D Bennett

To top of page


Testimony

I went to Vietnam for a year.
It probably could have been
Better spent elsewhere,
But I went anyhow,
Not that I chose to, or wanted to,
Not that I volunteered to go kill people.
Rather, I got a mandatory Draft Notice,
So I was sent into the Military,
To do what Militaries do...fight wars.

I had never been to war,
Neither had most Americans who went
As it had been a long time passing,
Since the Korean debacle of the 50’s,
Where almost 34,000 Americans died,
In this three year “Police Action,” by the United Nations.
And it was a shock; a disappointment,
Not at all like the movies portray wars, no parades...bands,
There was no glory, no grandeur, no triumphs, no Victories!

Yet, at times, war can be spectacular,
Sometimes, in the aftermath of a battle,
It is the composition of the battlefield,
Resembling a sprawling canvas of terrible beauty,
Where nothing stirs; nothing moves in the silence;
Where gray smoke drifts and rises aimlessly
From blackened, broken, smouldering craters.
Where the dead sprawl awkwardly where they died,
In the exact moment of their brutal death!

Broken bodies and limb pieces, frozen for all time,
In grotesque caricatures configurations,
Their mouths slack and open, faces crawling with carrion flies,
Eyes half open, half closed, all dulled and distant,
As if they were staring, unfocused, into eternity.
Their war ended their life, their futures,
Brutally cut short, cut down in the prime
Of their young life, which is now forever gone.
There would be no wife to love; no children to raise,
No grandchildren to spoil at Christmas,
No legacy of the gene pool, no decedents,
All lost eternally and forever frozen in time.

Life as they once knew was gone; so totally over,
For each and every one of these young boys.
Quickly understood what war really was,
An endless, long year of young men like himself
Killing “enemy,” brutally, callously as ordered
Those who were fighting in and for their own country,
While we were strangers killing them in their own back yard…
This, makes a huge difference.

I did not set war policy, nor determine strategy,
I was told what to do and doing it as best I could,
In the most honorable way (if that is possible.)
I make no apologies for my behavior,
For fulfilling my duty, and following orders,
For being of “service,” to my country.
I quickly learned this war was very limited,
Bogged down in restrictions, with no clear cut direction,

I quickly understood I was there to survive
The hemorrhaging of my sanity, for one long year.
I quickly learned we were not there to win this war,
We were there simply hoping not to lose it, a big difference!
Could we have won? I don’t see how we really could,
But no country has ever won a war in a foreign country!
In Vietnam, never! Or in Afghanistan...not in a thousand years!
Still, Americans always want to be in there first.
To eagerly try to climb the impossible mountain,
Rise mightily to meet the challenge, to sail the endless sea,
Why? Simply because....it’s what we always try to do!

Am I proud of what I did?
I am proud of me, I am also honored
To know the men who were there with me.
Those, who shared this most horrific experience,
They are closer than any brother can ever be.
For war bonds men, bringing them closer
By the shared experience
Than anything else in the world.
Ask any veteran in any war.
And any who weren’t there,
Will never know; can never understand.

Would I do it again? Good question…
People are supposed to learn lessons,
From their experience, not repeat them
Over and over again, as our country does
In this war, we were wrong,
Doing it again would not make it right
The answer: “Hell no...I would not do it again.”

Was it worth it? If you get beat up bad enough
You should be smarter next time.
We should have learned we do not go around
Shopping our armed forces; to keep them busy.
For any cause, any pretext, real or imagined,
Or perhaps we need to stimulate our economy.
Or if we just feel like having a fight, that’s wrong!
Worse…it is stupid! Why must we always have to fight?
Why do we always have some “threat,” some shadow enemy?
Another country is out to get us, topple us...think about that!
How paranoid are we as a nation anyhow?

If we don’t repeat the lessons learned the hard way over time,
Then it was probably worth it and can possibly save lives
Of future generations of our military, our youth.
But that appears to be an unlikely scenario,
We seem to not be able to go more than 20 years
Until we get into another conflict,
Until we send another generation, to die,
Under suspect circumstances, perhaps,
Or orchestrated, fabricated evidence and logic,
From men who have no conscience, scruples, or soul.
As for the men who were killed in war?
It was such a tragic, needless waste!
Would I fight again?
If this country, this land, this nation
Is in immediate danger
And they are landing on the beaches,
And they are coming towards my home,
Then I will be the first to meet them to fight them,
And kill them; or die in the process.
Thank you!

In America today, right now we as a country,
Face a hard decision on Afghanistan,
To stay there, or not? What I find strange,
Our Military seems bent on continuing over there,
After not being able to figure it out for the past 10 years!
They suddenly, they have a brain fart! Add more troops!
As if this is the best way to win in Afghanistan,
The same Afghanistan, called the graveyard of empires,
Where not even Alexander the Great,
Or Hannibal, both great Generals,
Who conquered the known world at the time,
Couldn’t win in “Bactria,” or “Balkh,”
As it was commonly known back then,
Neither man with his great armies, not even Russia
Who was located next door, could subdue these people!
And now, we think we can from half way around the world?

As much as I’d really like to believe
Our Government Leaders are smart and intelligent,
And the Military really knows what they are doing,
Sometimes you just gotta wonder how they reason;
How stubborn one must be to not be able to project;
To think outside the box; anticipate probabilities.

To ask if it is worth it, if our kids should die
To prevent radical Islam from taking over a country,
I think that’s pretty weak to me, doesn’t ring right.
And certainly, not worth my kid dying for!
Military Intelligence, sometimes, you just gotta wonder!

What is it with the Military and their new expensive weapons?
Providing even more deadly methods to kill people?
Satellites, drones, mapping the known world,
And we can’t take out one old Muslim!
An old guy with a bunch of wives hiding somewhere?
It is a war waged against a few hundred, religious zealots;
Justified by the never ending search for Bin Laden,
And even after we get him, there will be another,
Another regime dangerous to our security and way of life;
An elusive, every changing “bogey-man,” who never dies,
But we must keep the bogey-threat alive and dangerous,
For without this...those guys don’t have jobs…

Curtis D Bennett

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Scars

Questing civilian eyes rudely stare
Blatantly at his missing parts
As if, by looking long enough
They will miraculously reappear.
Doesn’t anyone realize how long he stared?
Looking frantically, in vain, for what he had lost!
And how long, those scars took to heal!
And the unseen, deep scars within that haven’t yet?
Each time someone looks, judges, and sniffs on,
It rips that scar wide open again
As he bleeds once more…his very soul!

Curtis D Bennett

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                 Black and White

Prior to Vietnam, Wars were in black and white footage,
The Civil War was recorded in black and white photos
The 1st World War, in grainy, jerky movies of armies,
The 2nd World War introduced some color in the footage,
And even included photos of the dead bodies
Washing ashore after an invasion from the sea,
All of this before television became the media of choice,
Bring America the Vietnam War in living color.
Complete with all the blood and gore of war;
Accompanied by the sound track of dying, frightened boys,
Waiting for that helicopter, which never came.

Prior to Vietnam, the Government censored wars,
For good reason, for wars were brutal, bloody, and vile,
And dead Americans cannot be sanitized nor sainted,
Their are no words to justify the destruction and death
Of the young boys whose bodies are so desecrated,
Torn up and broken into bloody pieces of human meat,
Ground up and callously spit out in the madness of war.

Night after night after night on the network news,
Just in time for dinner, came the reports from Vietnam,
From frightened correspondents in the jungle battlefield,
Surrounded by the American limp, lifeless bodies,
Being loaded into helicopters like sacks of garbage,
Stacked on each other so as to conserve space and room,
There are no dignified deaths in war...
There is no way to eliminate the blood and death,
No say to deny the killing and bloodshed,
No way to justify...the horrendous human cost.

Yet, there is something that seems to fascinate us,
Draws viewers to the screen night after night to the news,
In the comfort and safety of their own homes, they watch
The efforts of America to wage war across the sea,
In a faraway land; for a vague, ignoble, forgotten cause,
A war, which over the years, has finally lost its reality,
And now, rings hollow...like a broken bell.

Curtis D Bennett

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History of War

America emerged as a country of the world,
By fighting the British for Independence,
Refusing to be one of her colonies,
And emerged triumphant in 1776,
A new nation in a new world,
Since then, we have been fighting wars,
With everyone; every place and everywhere.
Around the globe, near East, Far East, Russia,
Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, Latin America,
A total of 66 conflicts in these 236 years,
Which has killed or wounded 2.6 million Americans...
Do you know the name... of one of them?

Curtis D Bennett

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The Mythology Of America (The US of A)

We all live in fascinating times; in a fascinating era.
We tend to remember events as we wanted them to be,
Not as they were, not as they happened.
For we are all a part of the American “Dream”,
A world we have imagined we live in,
In a country we imagined as perfect,
With a life where we try to attain “Perfection”,
Where we could be whom we always wanted to be,
In a country where we can dwell with our perfect families,
In the "Promised Land”, to live “Happily ever after!”

We all tend to mythologize our past, our history,
This country with our seizing of the Indian lands,
Committed genocide, on an entire race of human beings.
Who were simply in the way of our self-indulgence;
Overlooking the cruelty of our callous inhumane acts
As in our greed we methodically eradicated them!
By seizing all previous Indian land in America as “ours”,
“From sea to shining sea.” (American Exceptionalism)
Under the guise of our God-given, “Manifest Destiny![2]”
An America we proclaim as our “Sweet land of Liberty”;
Where “God shed his Grace”, on our “Fruited Plain”.
This land, where “Freedom rings and Seas are shining”.
With “Spacious Skies” and “Purple Mountains Majesty”,
A country where the young were cautioned,
“Ask not, what your country can do for you...”
We were all, “America the Beautiful.”

Our fathers returned from World War II,
As “The Greatest Generation”, a “good” war,
A war where we kicked the shit out of Germany;
A war when we turned Japan into radioactive rubble,
Destroying the illusions of grandeur of Germany,
The egotistical manifest destiny of Japan, to smoking ruins.
As America emerged as the dominant power of the world,
A world we saved from madmen; the world now “owed us”,
For we had saved the world; we had died to set men free.

World War II was considered a “good” war,
The American men who fought it were heroes,
Became known as real “men among men”, brave, fearless;
Transcending the mortality of ordinary humans
Emerging almost God-like from our patriotic war,
A war in which all America, got caught up in together,
And who all fought this war together as one country;
Bonding together as one people united, collectively,
Fighting this war as “One nation, under God!”

If any war could ever be considered as “good”, this was it.
Common cause, common enemies, common goals,
As America rose to the world’s challenge to become,
The Leader of the free world, Champions of Democracy,
A war in which America had achieved “Victory”,
Then brought our fighting heroes back home to parades;
Where we provided our GI’s with new jobs, new cars,
New houses and college educations.

As the years passed, our mythology of the “great” war,
Emerged becoming larger than life itself, we forgot the pain.
Ignored as best we could, the wards of Veteran’s hospitals,
Where combat survivors had been safely put away,
For they were not “normal”; they had been changed by war,
So were not considered that important or vital to the future.
Instead, we made up excuses for them; it was their fault,
(As they were probably flawed human beings to start with.)


Korea kind of came, flared, then died out, we did not win,
Then again, it wasn’t really “our” war, rather a UN thing,
We were just going along with all the other countries
In a minor “Police Action”, Korea didn’t count, really,
It was WW-2 we so fondly recalled, the war we won,
Almost with nostalgia for the good old days,
The good old days of our war of “Glory”, “Patriotism”,
As America continues today as a country in denial,
About the harshness and cruelty of wars like Vietnam,
About the appalling cost and true price of what war...is!

Curtis D Bennett

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The Seduction of War

Although wars are started by old men in power,
Young men, without options, fight them.
The very notion of going out and dying horribly,
Ripped apart by exploding steel tearing your body,
Into bloody chunks of meat and broken bones,
Is repugnant, almost nauseating to contemplate,
So these young men must believe, must be convinced,
The “reward” for fighting is worth the risk...right!

Rather than dwelling on reality, war now becomes a fantasy,
Painted in glowing terms such as “Victory, “Winning”,
“Noble Causes, Defending Democracy, Glory, Honor,
“Heroic, Bravery, Valor, and “Fighting for Freedom”,
Words, which carry a certain, valiant “ring” to them,
Connoting the ultimate measure of a “real man!”
Setting a fanciful, mythical standard for youth to strive for,
A daunting challenge to every young man’s, “manhood”.
And Hollywood becomes War’s dominant protagonist.
Perpetuating war as a fantasy delusion of wild imagination.
These wars of fantasy, hearken back to ancient times,
Where armored knights on white horses fought the heathen,
Bare-chested men wearing furry shorts leap at each other,
Mano-a-mano, they fly through the air slashing swords,
Swinging manacled balls and chains at each other,
Firing lasers as they sprint the burning rubble
Screaming platitudes, cliché insults and abuse
While thick black smoke and wild fire rages around them.
As for their honeys on the sidelines, what can you say?
No, they ain’t the girl next door, or the high school class,
These chicks are gorgeous, perfect skin and sexy bodies,
Sensuous curves, long legs, and unconditional love!
Are they worth dying for or what! Hell yeah!
Show me where to sign, and when do I start,
How do I join the few, the proud...
So I can one day become a “Marine!”
So one day for a short time, I would at last be,
“All that I can be!”

Curtis D Bennett

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The Core of War

War is the ultimate act of merciless “bullying”.
Of a stronger country going to war with a weaker one,
Of one country going after another country’s “stuff”.
In the ancient world, “Kingdom’s” and “Empires”,
Controlled foreign countries with Military force;
Waging wars of imperialism with conquest by invasion.
Establishing “colonies”, to support their “Empires”.

An Empire, which would ultimately fail and fall apart,
When the colonies revolted against their invaders
To take back control of their own lands once again.
War is based on greed and need of natural resources,
Prevalently by Island Countries like Britain and Japan,
Limited by geography, expanding populations, and greed,
Who desired outside resources of 3rd World Countries
To maintain their way of life; their standard of living.

Britain established a commonwealth of colonies,
Africa, The Mid-East, India, Australia, and Malaysia,
Japan invaded China and Southeast Asia and Korea,
France brutalized Vietnam and the West Indies.
While America under the guise of “Manifest Destiny”,
Practiced brutal genocide, against Native Americans,
Indigenous tribes who were inconveniently in our way!
It is a forgone conclusion our world’s future will include
Several major wars over oil, as this vital substance
Reaches its peak production and eventual decline.
As nations fight to protect their standard of living.
Iraq will be the first of many, as the world’s future
Will result in constant, global wars over oil,
As this vital substance is a limited resource.
And nations will fight to protect standards of living.
So we can maintain our standard of life...no matter the cost!

Curtis D Bennett

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Quantrill’s Raid on Lawrence
(August 21, 1863)

It was a makeshift, guerilla band of murderers,
They numbered some four hundred and fifty riders,
Led by 25 year old William Quantrill,
Arriving after a long, hard ride from Missouri,
They paused their horses after the final climb up the hills,
Cresting the summit of Mount Oread,
In the warm pre-dawn hours of August, 1863.

They gathered together in a skirmish line,
Then descended on the sleeping town of Lawrence,
Dozing peacefully below, unaware their fate,
When death descended in all its fury,
On the small, unaware Kansas town,
Dozing by the quiet meandering river KAW.

There, they murdered some 183 men and boys,
Some as young as 14 years old,
They burned buildings and businesses to the ground,
Looting the banks and stores of all they could find,
Gunning down the men in front of their families,
Raping women at their whim and opportunity,
Torching all but two of the businesses of Lawrence,
Then left the town burning in the hot morning sun,
After four hours of brutal, wanton murder and mayhem,
Under the guise of “the Civil War,”
The day the soldiers, came to town.

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A Tale of Two Villages

                 Oradour sur Glane (1944)

It could have been any town, anytime, or anywhere,
Any simple, ancient town of a thousand years
Quietly basking the grass banks of a timeless river.
Its old narrow streets paved with enduring cobblestones
As narrow tram tracks, meandered the main road
Laughing school children playing with barking dogs,
Old men dozing on wooden benches beside the road,
In the town of Oradour sur Glane in France,
On that peaceful, early June summer morning,
They day the soldiers, came to town.

The Germans arrived around noon and gathered the people,
Over 400 women and children, to the old, Catholic Church.
Where they were locked inside, then a fire was started
Women screaming as crying children flee behind the alter
Heavy, wooden oak pews ignite to send the flames higher.
Like a giant oven, the church erupts in black, boiling smoke,
Birthing a furious fire within stonewalls and high ceilings
The bronze bells[3] melted, crashing down with the roof,
Burning all alive; brutally buried beyond recognition,
Underneath the blackened rubble; in the thick piles of ash,
The day the soldiers, came to town.

Small groups of men were herded to barns and garages,
Where machine guns were set up, to mow them down!
Starting at the knees, they opened up, firing incessantly,
Turning men to thrashing, screaming, dying helpless heaps.
Then, the Nazi’s began systematically looted the town,
Stealing everything they found considered having value,
Afterwards, they deliberately set fire to the entire town,
Hoping to burn away the bloody evidence of their slaughter.
The day the soldiers, came to town.

An entire village burned and perished that day,
Leaving roofless, granite skeletons of haphazard rubble,
Glassless windows staring forever, out into eternity,
Where wide, empty doors seem as anguished, mouths,
Silently screaming in eternal shock and horror!
There, on a summer day in the peaceful countryside,
642 men, women, and children were callously murdered,
This town, now a graphic monument against war...
A testament to man’s inhumanness to his fellow man,
To what happens when soldiers and civilians collide,
The day the soldiers...come to town.[4]

Curtis D Bennett


                My Lai Was Once A Small Village (1968)

The hamlet of My Lai was like most others,
A small band of villagers working the land,
Living in a gathering of home made shelters,
Sharing a common well, surrounded by rice fields,
Poor peasants, caught up in a war, not of their choosing.
On March 16, 1968, the Americans “choppered in”
The day the soldiers, came to town.
G.I.’s slaughtered 504 Vietnamese civilians that day,
The old, the young; mostly women; children...all shot down!
Murdered by Americans, young men of “Charlie” company.
Using automatic weapons, bayonets, and grenades,
Who became caught up in a fearful, primeval killing frenzy,
And then casually slaughtered helpless, human beings,
In their wanton killing of innocent women and children.
Reduced to crazed men caught in war’s insanity,
Reverting back to ancestral Neanderthal DNA,
Then wantonly, recklessly murdered human beings,
Claiming to be “Follow Orders” in the murderous rampage,
Because they were scared? Because they were afraid?
That and they possessed both the power and means to kill!
That March 16, 1968, Vietnam’s own sad “Day of Infamy”.
The day the soldiers...came to town

These same American kids, barely a year earlier,
Had been attending their local high school,
Now, they had turned into murders; led by Lt. Calley;
War criminals of the worst kind, but not surprising,
For they had all, been carefully taught...to kill.
What exactly is the real and only difference in massacres?
Between Oradour Sur Glane France and My Lai, Vietnam?
Roughly, about... 24 years...

Curtis D Bennett

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Nature’s War

On schedule, the big, heavy planes slide in
Just above the treetops at 150 feet,
Spraying down long, twisting fine wide, wet sheets
Of orangey, gossamer, drifting chemicals floating down.
There, soon, all the green, thick leaves die and fall away,
From the giant trees that also, will soon die!
The birds stop singing, for they too are dying,
Even the air is still, for nothing grows anymore,
Where the deadly, killing American poison falls.
One exception is found in newborn, village babies,
Who grow grotesque, deformities, and misshapen tumors.
Once again, America’s Big Corporations,[5] in all their greed,
Try to challenge nature…once again, we all lose!

Curtis D Bennett

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In Memoriam

Far high above, cloud armies pause,
To paint the land, in shadowed gauze.
The clear blue air in silence sings
Where eagles dream on mighty wings.

A ghostly bugle calls the role,
Its haunting notes caress the knoll
And echoes somber over fields of green
Where warriors sleep their endless dream.

White markers, march in rank and file
To hold the stillness, for a while.
As soft wind shivers leafy trees,
Then sweeps green meadow’s grassy seas.

My brothers, sleep beneath this grass
With youthful comrades from the past.
Forgotten...as the wars they fought...
And all their sacrifice…for naught!

Curtis D Bennett

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To The Wall

The names of the men, who fought and died,
Will be remembered far longer, by far more,
Than those who fought and somehow survived.
It is a truly remarkable memorial to their memory.
Yet today there is still not one compelling answer,
Nor explanation from the Government that sent them
As to why these names are today, inscribed on this wall;
Why they died and what they died for?
Even today there is no real reason; no bona fide answer.

Sadder yet, deep down within the soul;
Within the gut of Americans of that generation
Is the well-known hard, undeniable reality
Their deaths did not really change, a single thing.
It was so unnecessary; it was such a tragic waste,
It is a grim American tragedy; a sober reminder to us all,
Of the deadly final cost of: “Country’s Pride.”

Prior to America starting its next irresponsible war,
Leaders in the White House and members of Congress
Perhaps should stroll down this path,
To visit old friends on the wall;
Perhaps to explain to them, somehow, in some way
Why they soon, will be having some new company.
Although Veterans may survive war, they are still victims;
All Veterans will always be affected by the war experience;
All, will never, ever...be the same.

Curtis D Bennett

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                 Healing Touch

The 10 years of Vietnam were costly,
58,000 American fighting men died,
Today, most Americans are unaware,
Of who those kids were, for they are now history,
Lost and forgotten, forever, in the late 60’s and 70’s.
Each, struck down in the prime of life
In a war which was so unnecessary.

A war, which settled nothing; proved nothing,
Except Governments lie and deceive their people;
That most, if not all Politicians...are spineless assholes![6]

But each of those 58,000 casualties,
Had a family; friends and buddies who knew them,
People who were with them when they died,
When they were medivaced out
To disappear into the distance of deep sky,
Never to be heard of again as they vanished,
Often leaving good friends behind,
Wondering, if they made it through,
If they somehow survived and lived,
Somehow, were still around and doing well.

For many of their surviving friends,
Who loaded them into the choppers,
These questions, thoughts, and unresolved questions,
Were not addressed; answers, not even pursued.
This way, they could keep their friend alive,
Would not have to face his death; rather could avoid it,
For in their minds this would keep them alive,
Not have to face the trauma, sorrow, and cruel reality,
They were perhaps dead and gone forever.

In the years following the war,
Survivors picked up their lives again,
Went back to their families and jobs,
Went back to school, back into society,
Assimilating once more, back into America.
Leaving Vietnam behind; leaving the war behind.
But keeping the unresolved questions of their friends,
Tucked away into a distant corner of our minds,
Where they were safe forever from reality,
Where they would remain as we wished them to be,
Where we would not have to face their deaths,
A place where we could keep them well and alive forever.
Today, this is considered part of PTSD,
(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,)
A condition brought about by combat,
A condition suffered by all men who go to war.
For what they do in war is beyond the pale,
Beyond what “civilized” minds can ever imagine,
Beyond any mind-trip one can ever prepare for!
An experience, never forgotten, always remembered,
It never ever truly leaves one...who has been to war.

So through the years, these veterans have carried
The guilt of not knowing, their denial of reality,
A refusal to go to the bad places of the mind,
Carrying around the guilt through their lives,
The guilt of not dying, of being a survivor,
The guilt of them dying, perhaps in your place,
Called “Survivor’s guilt,” common to all men,
Who manage to survive war.

This unseen, unrecognized trauma of the mind,
Has been concealed, buried, tucked away,
To a place they never want to visit again,
Of an experience they never want to go through,
Of a memory so hard to accept, to realize,
Where it remains throughout their life,
Never completely gone; never completely forgotten.

There is a black wall in Washington,
The Vietnam Memorial Wall,; a national monument,
And on that black granite wall are inscribed
The names of those who were killed in Vietnam,
Some medivaced out still alive; some dead and others dying.
But it was the last and only memory to those left behind,
Those still in the field to remember of them,
Looking up at the hazy, yellow skys of Vietnam,
Gradually becoming smaller and smaller,
Watching them disappear forever,
Away into the deep, Asian sky forever.
When you visit the wall, you will see Vietnam Vets,
Reaching slowly out to the wall with their hands.
To gently touch the name of their friend...
This is their way of saying good-bye, their final farewell,
Which has been missing for the past half century.
Today, they have finally come to this black wall
For resolution, for closure, and for absolution.
For their feelings of guilt for surviving;
For their feelings of loss of their friends;
For their reluctant recalling of a bad, brutal war...
In their remembrance of their long ago, lost youth.

For all these years, they have carried their guilt,
They have borne their silent sadness,
They have carried these memories with them,
Yet, have stoically endured and maintained.
And now at last, it is time to resolve these issues,
To address them directly; honestly, and then let them go.
A time to finally forgive oneself, and forgive your friend,
For dying on you that dreadful day…so long ago.

As the old veteran reaches out his finger,
To trace the etched name on the wall of his friend,
There is transference of energy, a connection.
A moment of silent communication with old friends,
Whose engraved names are the only memories left.

A time to release all of those repressed emotions,
The hiding of facts; the denial of their death,
All of those terrible secrets hidden for so long.
The negativity of energy dormant for so long,
Can at last be transferred for the last time
From the survivors mind, to the name carved in stone,
Back to their friend one last time as they say farewell,
One last time to be with them in thought and prayer,
To be with them in spirit and one last time, to share.

As you watch, you can see the veteran’s hand
Will remain just one moment longer on the name,
Then he will bow his head and close his eyes,
For he is reliving those last memories of war,
He is replaying that final goodbye from so long ago,
Remembering one last time his friend who died,
One last time for him to say farewell forever,
As most veterans, make only one trip…to the wall.

The wall is their place of remembrance, of sorrow,
Of a final personal farewell ceremony
To honor the ultimate sacrifice made,
By those who died for their country.

For those who never had the chance,
To live a real life, they were all cut down,
Without any chance at all to live a life.

Alongside the bottom are bouquets of flowers,
Placed there by those who came for closure,
Flowers for all the names on the wall;
Flowers for all the soldiers, long time passing.
For those who gave their all for their country,
For those who will always remain
…forever young.

Curtis D Bennett

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NOTES

[1] General David Pretraeus, who couldn’t win the Iraq war, so they put him in charge of Afghanistan. President Obama in a campaign promise, said he would end the war and bring home the troops. His first act upon being elected, was to send even more troops to Afghanistan! What a disappointment he was, and still is, which is why he probably will be a “one and done” President, as the American people don’t usually elect dumb ones or those who lie for a second time, “Bush the 2nd" is of course, the exception!

[2] A policy of justifying Imperialism rationalized as inevitable, what God himself has decided it is our right to seize Indian lands.

[3] Bronze melts at 1250 degrees centigrade.

[4] An entire village died that day, Callously wiped out by the German Nazi war machine, whose soldiers became caught up in the obscenity of war! A week or so later, these Germans themselves, in return, would be mercilessly slaughtered; this time by the Allied armies, who could fight back...and did.

[5] Dow Chemical, would Dow cover up for years the deadly effects of Agent Orange on humans to insure continuing sales of chemicals to the government, by insisting it wasn’t dangerous to the troops and our Government awarded Dow Chemical millions of dollars for this “poison” (in addition to the millions of gallons of napalm)

[6] The only priority of all Politicians is to get reelected, at any cost; price, by any group or person who can pony up the cash for advertising.

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