Nil Desperandum
10-19-2004, 05:17 PM
Inspired by half a page of my deceased comrades-in-arms at CNN (I couldn't get past A before I wept and could not continue) http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2003/iraq/forces/casualties/
I enscribe this day a poem, dedicated to their memory, their cause of freedom, and ultimately, their sacrifice.
A Lawn Thought Dying On
I still wasn't sure what I was here for;
Who I was dying for;
Or what I was doing.
They say the final moments before you die,
The world goes silent,
The calm center of a hurricane of metal.
It wasn't always this difficult, breathing.
My warm blood is flowing out of my chest.
Hands cloaked in fury, in pain, in disbelief.
We always say, "It could never be me."
I think the sniper round that exited my lung says otherwise.
I always wanted to pass away at night.
I couldn't have seen it coming.
My night-vision goggles malfunctioned.
We were trying to take the bridge.
I bent over, screaming I had to fix my equipment.
That is when screaming started everywhere else.
Bullets tore through my buddies, their bodies, my life.
Time froze.
Blood splattered onto my goggles. So much for those.
We never thought it would be us.
Explosions are heard everywhere. Deafening silence.
A mortar round nests into the ground near our position.
When I woke up, I was not alone.
And I was dying.
Yet I was alone.
I'm almost glad I didn't have to feel that pain.
My flesh ripping apart, my safety exploding into the night.
I'm dying.
It couldn't possibly get any worse.
Except for the fact my baby girl won't ever see me.
She won't ever know the man so proud of her curly locks.
She won't experience my love;
Or my sadness;
Or my last breath.
I wish things had been different.
I wish that I knew what I was dying for.
I would drag my bleeding heart to the lawn of my superiors;
And wail in agony, as I wail now inside.
The world inside, the world outside; they are torn apart.
And I would batter down the gates, as my will is battered;
And I would crawl until my lifeless body stopped;
Crawl, as I did as a baby, innocent all the same,
To my commanders...
With the Red, White, and Blue clutched under my chest;
To hold in what life is leaving me;
To carry me those few extra steps;
I want them to turn my cold, dead life over
And see what I thought I was fighting for.
I wonder how much darker the Red must get before it gets lighter.
A gasp.
Spasm.
Pain.
Fuck, this hurts.
Blood.
So much blood.
I cough up my life.
I'm dying.
My beautiful family, my beautiful baby.
They carry on my legacy now, as everything I know evaporates away.
My eyes.
They are so heavy. I feel... sleepy.
Peaceful.
I'm dreaming.
I want to dream.
I do not want to wake up from this nightmare.
I want my lover to hold me.
I want her warmth to fuel my flames.
I want her to be proud of her man.
Her husband.
Her baby's father.
My little wonder.
It escapes me, my vision faltering.
How metaphorical that last scene.
Tracers and fire, shrapnel.
Another gasp. Pain knifes through my soul.
I hear my daughter's laugh.
Laughter through my soul.
There is a peace, there.
In my solitude.
In hers.
I reach out, hand in the sand.
A fistful of sand.
A fistful of beautiful, black hair and a baby's warmth.
A baby's warmth.
My baby.
Both.
A final sigh, dust exhales, then silence.
And nothing more.
On that fateful night, surrounded by comrades, surrounded by hope, I passed away, my hand clutching my chest, the other my dreams, reminiscing of a flag that I had never touched, tears streaming down my face. They would dry with the oncoming storms; my buddies would pick up my lifeless body; they would honor my wife and daughter with the flag I never touched.
I can say, with pride and heart shielded with hope,
I died doing the right thing, and not knowing the scope
Of the dreams of freedom,
And the dreams blown to the wind on that White House lawn
A lawn I that I thought I lay dying on.
I enscribe this day a poem, dedicated to their memory, their cause of freedom, and ultimately, their sacrifice.
A Lawn Thought Dying On
I still wasn't sure what I was here for;
Who I was dying for;
Or what I was doing.
They say the final moments before you die,
The world goes silent,
The calm center of a hurricane of metal.
It wasn't always this difficult, breathing.
My warm blood is flowing out of my chest.
Hands cloaked in fury, in pain, in disbelief.
We always say, "It could never be me."
I think the sniper round that exited my lung says otherwise.
I always wanted to pass away at night.
I couldn't have seen it coming.
My night-vision goggles malfunctioned.
We were trying to take the bridge.
I bent over, screaming I had to fix my equipment.
That is when screaming started everywhere else.
Bullets tore through my buddies, their bodies, my life.
Time froze.
Blood splattered onto my goggles. So much for those.
We never thought it would be us.
Explosions are heard everywhere. Deafening silence.
A mortar round nests into the ground near our position.
When I woke up, I was not alone.
And I was dying.
Yet I was alone.
I'm almost glad I didn't have to feel that pain.
My flesh ripping apart, my safety exploding into the night.
I'm dying.
It couldn't possibly get any worse.
Except for the fact my baby girl won't ever see me.
She won't ever know the man so proud of her curly locks.
She won't experience my love;
Or my sadness;
Or my last breath.
I wish things had been different.
I wish that I knew what I was dying for.
I would drag my bleeding heart to the lawn of my superiors;
And wail in agony, as I wail now inside.
The world inside, the world outside; they are torn apart.
And I would batter down the gates, as my will is battered;
And I would crawl until my lifeless body stopped;
Crawl, as I did as a baby, innocent all the same,
To my commanders...
With the Red, White, and Blue clutched under my chest;
To hold in what life is leaving me;
To carry me those few extra steps;
I want them to turn my cold, dead life over
And see what I thought I was fighting for.
I wonder how much darker the Red must get before it gets lighter.
A gasp.
Spasm.
Pain.
Fuck, this hurts.
Blood.
So much blood.
I cough up my life.
I'm dying.
My beautiful family, my beautiful baby.
They carry on my legacy now, as everything I know evaporates away.
My eyes.
They are so heavy. I feel... sleepy.
Peaceful.
I'm dreaming.
I want to dream.
I do not want to wake up from this nightmare.
I want my lover to hold me.
I want her warmth to fuel my flames.
I want her to be proud of her man.
Her husband.
Her baby's father.
My little wonder.
It escapes me, my vision faltering.
How metaphorical that last scene.
Tracers and fire, shrapnel.
Another gasp. Pain knifes through my soul.
I hear my daughter's laugh.
Laughter through my soul.
There is a peace, there.
In my solitude.
In hers.
I reach out, hand in the sand.
A fistful of sand.
A fistful of beautiful, black hair and a baby's warmth.
A baby's warmth.
My baby.
Both.
A final sigh, dust exhales, then silence.
And nothing more.
On that fateful night, surrounded by comrades, surrounded by hope, I passed away, my hand clutching my chest, the other my dreams, reminiscing of a flag that I had never touched, tears streaming down my face. They would dry with the oncoming storms; my buddies would pick up my lifeless body; they would honor my wife and daughter with the flag I never touched.
I can say, with pride and heart shielded with hope,
I died doing the right thing, and not knowing the scope
Of the dreams of freedom,
And the dreams blown to the wind on that White House lawn
A lawn I that I thought I lay dying on.