Newsmen call it the Vietnam War.

Others say it’s a horrible mistake in history.

 

During military training, they would command us to get up,

And shake the hours of hurt and exhaustion off.

Search for a weak point in the enemy,

Listen for the shrieking whistle,

The ear shattering cry

that would signify

Dangerous and lethal means to an end.

 

Hide behind anything that will protect.

Duck and cover your head.

Pretend that it’s just another horrific nightmare

That will soon dissolve into the night.

Ready. Aim. Fire.

 

Each shot results in bloodshed.

The screams of agony, pain, and anguish.

But our captains and commanders laughed

and sneered,

At the newcomers that scrambled

and chased their lives

That were escaping,

Keeping out of their reach.

They didn’t think that someone

With such a high rank and status

like them

could be touched.

 

When I take my gun and aim,

My heart grows dim and dark,

like the cold sneer

That kills

Until a side is so weak,

it surrenders.

It deems eternal death and destruction

over all.

I call it

War.