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Pipe Dreams
Sitting on the curb, in the park,
Passers by not far away,
Blond hair disheveled and matted,
Like a cat who has been left to stray.
Looking down into the sewer,
He begins his yelping cry,
People walk by and they stare,
Not thinking to ask him why.
A man in his mid to late 20s,
Why does he cling to the street?
Without any inkling of origin,
And neither shirt or shoes on his feet.
As days pass him by he gets thinner,
And nights leave him lonely and cold,
There are memories that surface of soldiers,
And he tries, but no stories get told.
One day he is not sitting there,
And though the same people pass he's not missed,
Just another American soldier,
Signed and swallowed from Uncle Sam's list.
May 23, 2013 1:01 AM ©
Hug A Veteran Day
No one tells the tale of the Vet who returns from war and is able to be happy. I've never taken a life (to my knowledge) but if I did, I'd have a clue. Clueless, I will hug the next Vet I encounter - be well ~~A~~
You're right about that,
You're right about that, allets. Where are all the vets who have memories of the lighter side of the 'mash-like' experience? i'm not a vet, so i have to write from a civilian's point of view.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "