He was a hero for a moment
until the bullet cut him down.
When his body hit the earth it made a dull, smacking sound.
Medals mean nothing to a coffin in the ground.
Gone are the parades, the golden fanfare,
A father’s proud hug, a mother’s ruffling of hair,
because far, far away in the Desert of the Dead
lies a carcass in the sand with a hole in his head.
In the land of the living, I hear a mother’s quiet sob,
a father saying brokenly, “Oh, God. Oh, God.”
Is there a reason why boys go to war
and give their lives for mere earth as many before
To take the life of another man on the orders of the Mother Land?
Who puts the price on our heads?
Who decides which man is better off dead?
While blood is spilled on the battlefield and the morgues fill,
vision of a Man dying for everyone,
His body broken on a hill.
He is a Hero forever.
When they cut Him down and stuck His cold, dead body
in a hole in the ground,
He rose to break forever the cycle of death
To which men are bound.
(Journal Entry – October 13, 1986)