7/09/99
There are many people throughout history,
that we should be thankful for;
those that made us a nation of peace,
those that fought our wars.
Eisenhower, Pershing, Patton,
Kennedy, Mandela, King;
all knew life is worth fighting for,
and freedom is a precious thing.
Henry Ford gave us the automobile,
Eli Whitney, the cotton gin;
As for Thomas Edison,
I don't know where to begin.
Alfred Nobel gave us dynamite,
Houdini showed us tricks;
Madame Curie helped the sick.
The native American Indians,
had many great leaders as well;
their stories passed to each generation,
but whose names I cannot spell.
Heimlich gave us a maneuver,
Hibachi taught us to grill;
Wilber and Orville took to the air,
Schweitzer gave us a pill.
Da Vinci gave us a lot of things,
Picasso more than just art;
poets like Keats, Browning, and Sandberg,
and Einstein was just plain smart.
Too many people to mention,
I'd be like them all if I could;
philosophers say all the great men are dead,
and I ain't feelin' so good.

10/28/98
I've grown weary of fighting the demons,
in the battle for my soul;
my life is losing direction,
almost void now of meaning and goals.
The addictions I conquered so long ago,
have risen from the ash;
to feed the fires of torment,
around which the demons dance.
And as they beckon me to surrender,
I can smell their fetid breath;
I see purgatory in their eyes,
I can hear their song of death.
I wonder if peace will finally come,
if I lay down and close my eyes;
and abandon the fight for survival,
and let the demons take me to die.

10/08/97
It's often said that time heals all wounds,
I would take that bet;
Whoever said it wasn't looking,
Through the eyes of a combat vet.
There are wounded minds that have never healed,
Nothing stops the pain;
And nothing can give back that which was taken,
And why was never explained.
Enemy contact so long ago,
Comes back on random nights;
And the mind bleeds a little each time it relives,
The terror of a firefight.
Sometimes it's merely something seen,
A certain sound or maybe a smell;
An involuntary journey then begins,
Back to that jungle hell.
Once this trip has started there is no way back,
Once again your life is at stake;
And when your only choice is to kill or die,
There's no choice to make.
What separates a combat vet,
From those with a different skill;
Are the faces that come in the nighttime,
Of those he had to kill.
For life is a search for happiness,
We look for all we can get;
But sometimes all that is seen is pain,
Through the eyes of a combat vet.