PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was only my second march,

It happened before we could ever see.

One minute trudging along in the heat,

The next under fire from the VC!



I hit the ground and shot all about.

What was the point in taking aim?

I couldn’t shake the image of a stone,

On which engraved was my name.



I had to keep fighting with all my might

For that image was something that just wouldn’t be.

But then I saw my buddy, Chuck, fall,

Struck by a bullet from a VC.



I took my gun and I fired like hell

In the direction the bullets had come.

One more shot out of VC’s barrel

And I heard him fall, I knew he was done.



That final fire, VC’s last shot

I regret to concede who the bullet hit,

For gallantly fallen due to my delay

Was none but our dear Sgt.



When the fighting had finally come to a close,

The rain of the shrapnel finally died,

I saw the VC that I had taken

And right then and there, I all but cried.



This VC was certainly no stranger.

I felt so guilty of what I had done.

He seamed as if he was someone to talk to,

Someone so innocent and someone so young.



I saw my Sgt. laying there, dead.

Again, I heard his warning and views.

“Don’t make friends with the locals,” he said.

I guess his words were all to true.