The smell of war was unsettling
Burning things, wasted things,
Things just lying there
Or things rotting unattended to.

The sights of war were startling
Sudden death, explosions,
Rooms in flames, people swimming
Fighting for their lives
And not winning.

The touch of war was warm
With blood, and gritty with dirt
And mud, and things that
No soap could wash away.

The sound of war was loud
The staccato of machine guns
The pop pop pop of grenade launchers,
The thump thump of impacts
The thump thump thump of impacts.

The taste of war is with me still
Like a breath I can't forget
Like the fear stinking
And cordite in my mouth;
Like never wanting to be too close.

We honor all the soldiers
And it's right to do it. But soldiers
Who march and smooth fresh uniforms
On Memorial Day know that those
Who don't march are the heroes.

Those who lie still
Those who still lie,
Those who never knew
Those stopped dead
Those forever young, but never young.

I have dead friends, living and buried.
I talk to them both as though they were here.
I sing to them, and this memorial day
I spent all day with one of them:
We never mentioned it once.

It was a day to remember.

05/30/2005

Posted on 05/27/2007
Copyright © 2026 W. Mahlon Purdin