Poetry Written By and For Veterans




Am I a Vet?

Here is a story that I would like to tell,
about a Marine, a grunt, a man I know well.
It’s about Vietnam, I’ve never been there,
but I could tell you stories that would raise your hair.

For 26 years I’ve walked the walk,
I’m the only one who listens when he needs to talk.
I’ve lived with the torture, that pain and fear,
those times when he’s wondering, why he’s still here.

The buddy whose arm and legs were lying askew,
the landmine he stepped on was one that blew.
The Marine I know stepped on one too.
When he heard the click, he just knew,
he would go home in a box, wearing his blue.
The nightmares, the sweat, the anger and hate,
I’ve been the one to suffer, to see him this way,
I’ve paid the price for this country too;
I feel I’m a veteran, just like you.

I’ve had my share of pain with not a thing to gain.
I’m the one that listens; I’m the one that knows.
It’s me who understands just where his mind goes.
When I see the blank look in his eyes
I know that he is thinking of all their lies,
of honor and glory, which they tell you about

When in truth he’s been forgotten, without a doubt.
I haven’t forgotten for he is my life.
I wonder if I’m a Vietnam Vet, ‘cause I am his wife.

©Janet Sunday



To All Our Gold Star Mothers

I remember the white sand, the heat and the sun;
Being afraid, being happy and being so young.
The memory of smells, in the dawns silky chill,
of incense and strange woods as we passed through a ville;
the murmurs of the old ones, the cry of a child,
a strange sadness, tired, without a smile.

Step after step, can’t help but think,
of the young boy last morning, alone on the brink.
Was he in heaven, could he still think,
or was it just nothing, up over the brink?
What was the image when he heard the sharp click?
Did time slow down, or did it go quick?

Then you would wonder; did mother know of son?
Had enough time passed to be told he was gone?
Perhaps she was fixing supper, or sitting alone,
were there thoughts of her baby, so far from home?
To that broken hearted lady, may I be permitted to say?
No doubt you will see him, again,
on that blessed morning, on that blessed day.

You will awaken in heaven no longer old and gray.
There, standing before you, in his perfect new norm
your handsome young man, what a wonderful form.
I think tears will not come, because it will seem,
your suffering was but a moment, a thought…a dream.
I believe there are no tears in heaven, except from the Son,
and they are tears of happiness, when his children come home.

©Mckenzie Sunday
3rd Bn. 27th Marine Regiment
Vietnam




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