Letters From the Front

Machine Gun Preacher

Everyday I walk
through a jumble of
limbs,
a field of
skulls.
Everyday I wade
through a swamp
of blood.
(my feet are stained red)
(my eyes have gone cold)
A machine gun
preacher,
singing my hymns
of the dead.

GREEN BOY

Lost morality
thought to be forgotten
within words like
valor,
honor,
duty,
was simply misplaced
beneath Army issued blankets,
left in the mud,
growing slick with the
estranged tears of grown men.
Unseen, flowing down the beach
in a crimson channel of patriotic blood
as reddened white caps
crach against pale bodies
in charred uniforms
and soaked boots.
The revived by a green boy
fresh off the farm,
fresh from the womb,
with that American fresh scent
of innocence and hope.
No stench of death
haunting fitful moments of sleep.
No blood caked sand
crusting his neck, and ear.
No letters from the front
to the mothers of dead friends
weighing heavy on his breast pocket.
Just an unending love
for Mother
for God
for Country
and a pride in knowing
he's doing the right thing.

Making his way through
the roar of compact death
and speeding metal
whistlings,
pings,
zings,
splinters,
and explosions
he collapses upon a heap
of unrecognizable human remains.
(which side?)
(unrecognizable)
(his mother wouldn't know him)
(they have mothers, too?)
(which side?)
Unclean hands
rip and tear
through his pack
with an animal fever.
Rations, rounds,
grenades, socks.
No blanket.
Bloodied nails
slash at himself.
Tags, letters,
cantine, compass.
No valor.
(stars)
No honor.
(stripes)
No duty.
His sobs
shake tears to the ground,
thickening the mud at his feet.
A crimson channel of blood
run swiftly by,
gurgling with last breaths.
No morality.
When did he lose so much?

Rest Easy

Mother,
Today,
while defending this
great nation,
I smashed a
baby's skull
against a
brick wall.
(remember when you use to crack open a melon for lunch?)

That's
    one
        less
            future
                threat.

Rest easy,
Dearest Mother,
freedom
is secure.

Fading

An endless patchwork of
brown fingers reach out,
scatching my arms and face
as if using my surface for
countless games of tic-tac-toe.
A dampness thicker than hate,
deeper then your eyes,
swallow my feet,
pull my legs,
threatening to take them next.
Small pouches of blood
are carried off, some mixing
with the blood of friends,
some exploding, leaving a
stained patch of skin.
We are all dirty,
My ears ache from the strain
of listening for a foreign noise
in this foreign place that has
grown to familiar.
*when your life is endless motion, what is home*
Yet it is the sunset, Mother
hiding behind the world each night,
running from my hope,
that breaks my heart.

SIMPLIFICATION

Wading through the
mud, my senses were
besieged by the stench
of decay, excrement, and fear.
My nose burned and
tears welled in my eyes.
A soldier next to me
through up his hands in disgust.
"It smells like shit!
The whole fuckin' thing
smells like shit!"
It's odd how the
simplest of explanations
seem most profound.

Sweet Dreams

Last night I dreamt
of a sky,
crystal blue
and rain,
clean and fresh.
I could smell it,
love.
I awoke myself with a start
and peer out my tent.
The sky was
on fire,
and the rain fell steady,

a thick,
       red
          blood.      

*sigh*
My nightmare
was over.

D-Day

Mother,
live moments always
trudge
through gardens
of delicately lathered
blood.

Death of Innocence

My eyes,
once round and ripe,
like fresh grapes,
have watched too many
soulless images,
read countless
empty words.
Now, only dried,
dead
raisins remain.

Faith

The will to
live
when you walk
amongst the
dead

Death of a Patriot

How do I
live
with all the
blood
on my hands,
and none
in my heart?

Revelation

I saw the devil
yesterday.
He ran through the
forest, tempting me
to take a shot.

"You could end all of this."

My arm was steady,
my eye sharp.
Only his piercing laughter
rang through my mind, and
that insane messenger
cleared my mind.
I could see for the first time.
One moment of overwhelming temptation...
I let off a single shot,
only to hit a deer.
It fell to the earth
without a sound, it's
blood enriching the soil.

"And from this death sprouts forth life."

Crumbling to my knees,
I sat and wept,
oblivious to the war
raging around me.

Lucky?

Tears mix with blood
(not my own)
as they stain my cheeks.
My heart hammers
through my chest,
(I pray they do not hear)
exhausting me with
it's attempts to escape
the blackness surrounding it.
(swallowing)
Thunder explodes overhead
yet no rain falls,
save for death
reigning down upon us all.

I lay wedged
between a dead man
and a body,
(I knew the body; Dan Wilks was his name)
forced to lay in a bed
I did not make.
My finger is locked,
frozen,
around a trigger
that will fire no more.
Am I lucky?

By Dawn's Early Light

I lay, last night,
wedged between
a dead man
and a body.
(I knew the dead man; Dave Peters was his name)
When morning came
the sun cast a
beautiful, golden glow
atop the dead.
I wiped the blood
from my eyes
to make room for
a tear.
What a wonder
is God.

DO NOT FORGET

Your love has
always been vast.
Your forgiveness,
unconditional.
Yet for the crimes
committed, in the
false pretense of
freedom, I cannot
repent.
The Devil was once
an Angel ya know.

I understand faith.
With God's ghastly
golden hell burning
beauty through me, I
will allow myself
death, giving
myself fully to
your love.
Do not try to forgive.
Do not try to understand.
Do not forget.
Do not forget.
Do not forget.

A Hero's Eulogy

Tainted flesh, full of lead and steel
lay spread across an eternally red plain.
Metallic beasts, once immense and powerful
lay smoldering in the acrid smell
of baked hair and bone.

You see his face
in a newborn child
You hear his death
in the wail of those left behind.
(her tan skin look pale in comparison to his charred carcass,
she thanked god for a closed casket)
Medals are awarded
to pale headstones.

---

All poetry is written by Stephen Lindsay.

Please do not use or copy any of Stephen's poetry without his permission. Thank You!

E-mail Stephen at srl77@rochester.rr.com

This page created by Richard Lindsayrlindsa2@rochester.rr.com

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