Memorial Day, several haiku and a poem commemorating young men and women serving in the military through the years.
listening to dad’s stories
of white stones
yellow ribbon replaced
with black wreath
the few, the proud, the Marine
fledglings off to war
What is the sound of one hand clapping?
Or can it wash itself,
or tie a shoe?
For me, it is but temporary, a mere blip.
But what about those whose loss is more permanent?
Those who have lost an arm? A leg? More?
And the unseen wounds of war? The PTSD?
for twenty and thirty year old kids,
The time away from family
in deployment after deployment
The experiences of the battlefield,
friends and foes alike lying in their own blood,
with their own losses.
“They volunteered,” the old white…
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