The Lighter

Rains have stopped falling leaving a dampened sheen,

Are these thoughts real or is it just a dream?

I think of the others, who never made it home;

After the rains I feel frightened and alone.

More and more lately I feel like I’m dead inside;

I wish I could dream again, a dream where I could hide.

At night when I hurt and the tears begin to fall,

I think I see my buddies, I think I hear them call.

With my wife, daughters and home, I have so very much;

But at times like these, I feel so out of touch.

I’ve been to the Wall where we honor those that died;

I touched their names and remembered, and then I sat and cried.

A man handed me his drive on rag to wipe away my tears,

I shared with him my feelings I’ve hidden all these years.

He handed me his lighter as a reminder I wasn’t alone;

We talked and joked for hours before that marbled stone.

It started to drizzle as it does this time of the year;

My thoughts were now peaceful and not full of fear.

It was good to talk, to listen and yes, even share.

When I turned to speak, the stranger wasn’t there.

I looked at the lighter, etched in it was his name;

A park ranger sat beside me, my story seemed rather lame.

“These vets care,” he said, “No one should feel alone.”

“Your friend is here,” he said, “in this marbled stone.”

Michael D. Monfrooe

May 1985