Here’s another poem. This one shows how war can affect your future dreams.

Through the black night I lie
In a muddy foxhole
As the rain soaks my bones,
Beyond tired.
But I dare not shut my eyes,
For this is Charlie’s weather,
When you can’t hear or see him coming!
POP my twenty-five-foot trip flare goes off!
I spray the silhouettes with the 16
And AK fire cracks in the dark.
I lay down over 100 rounds in a panic
And toss 2 frags between the bamboo!

Then an eerie quiet fell
And I could hear my heart beating in the mud.
That morning we found a lifeless NVA soldier.
The guys put Airborne patches all over him.
I looked in his wallet
And there was a picture of him and his little boy together.
I slid down a tree and sat in the pouring rain
Staring at the picture,
Thinking, I took away the little boy’s dad,
And though it wasn’t supposed to, it hurt!
At that moment, a soldier said, Good kill, Greek.
And I said, looking at the picture,
There’s no such thing!
I’m tired of the rain and tired of the pain!–

Pete “the Greek” Agriostathes –
B/1/501

This poem originally appeared on the LZSally.com website.

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