Poem -

Heaven's Hung In Black

Heaven's Hung In Black


I am the Unknown Soldier.

From draft day (September 26, 1968) -

today I set foot in Vietnam (March 26, 1969) 

Six months of hardcore training. 

  •  

At age 18, torn from home in Mississippi,

drafted into United States Army.

Went to boot camp at Fort Polk.

  •  

Eight weeks of hell - 

followed by eight more weeks of AIT, Advanced Infantry Training.

Early rise, humping before dawn. Before Color Guard raises flag on pole.

I ran and ran - 5 or 6 miles, then go to breakfast.

  •  

Training, marching, calisthenics, classes, 

rifle range, obstacle course,

and hand to hand combat.

  •  

After lunch, more running,

a basic day in basic training.

  •  

Once, I was a deer hunter. 

I killed for sport and venison.

Now, I am the hunted,

like the whitetail deer in the woods.

  •  

I reminisce amidst the darkness...

the heavens are hung in black, 
church bells tolling.
I'm dressed in my Army uniform, 

decorated with ribbons and medals of valor. 

  •  

I stand at the foot of my nephew's bed.

He sleeps, unaware of my presence.

Holding back the tears,

his innocence is like a lamb.

  •  

I survived the Napalm and Vietcong,

slithering reptiles and snakes. 

The Huey gunships blot the sky.

The beast is hungry, tonight.

  •  

My medals shine like twinkling stars.

An angel watches above, dressed in Army green.

Remember mother sending cookies from US parcel post.

  •  

Only shared them with closest buddies.

Was my connection with my family.

Mail Call.

  •  

Opened letters sealed with kisses 
and perfume.
To escape reality,

momentarily.

  •  

Life was taken for granted. 

Freedom is not free.

The eagle soars.

  •  

He stirs beneath the quilt. 

I must hold back the tears.

Home sweet home, Mississippi. 

Where the magnolias bloom.

Combat boots on American soil.
 

  •  

Why did this war happen?

I am not the same person. Suffer from P.T.S.D. 

Night tremors and sweats buckle me, 

reliving nightmares in the Southeast Asian jungles.

  •  

I have flashbacks of Nam and Punjabi sticks,  

and bayonets blanketed in blood.

The Vietcong comes with vengeance, lurking in the shadows. 

Enemy seldom sleeps.

  •  

On guard duty, while platoon sleeps.

Gallinippers swarm me, 

prevents me from catching Z's in the bush.

No mosquito net or dope.

  •  

Shell shocked.

I held my M-16 automatic and carried a 38 pistol in my shoulder holster.

Pineapple grenades.

I survived firefights, Constantine wire, malaria, jungle fever, and jungle rot.

Full metal jacket sniper bullets ricochet. Missed my Lucky Strikes.

Booby traps make amputees.

Zipperheads scream in the bush.  

  •  

Jane Fonda protests the war,

she toured North Vietnam in 1972, 

Posing for foreign Press atop a Hanoi Anti Aircraft Gun

  •  

I cough up Agent Orange

Rickey's eyes open briefly.

Did he see me? Let the boy sleep.

I survived Vietnam, but it is not over.

  •  

Looking at my nephew on bunk bed.

Unaware.

Not knowing how cruel this world can be...

sleep - sleep, wee one;

may you never see war,

unlike your uncle.

  •  

I will protect my loved ones

and country from harm. 

From

communism.

  •  

Years and decades pass with the seasons.

I deer hunt and labor at the factory. 

Have few friends because of sickness inside me. 

Watch the movie, 'Deer Hunter,' at drive-in cinema.

  •  

Old with battle fatigue,

all hope is lost. 

No one to turn to,

depression drives me insane.

  •  

I hold a gun to my head.

Now, the pain and nightmares are over.

Escaping hell on earth.

  •  

I am John Doe. 

One fallen hero
with a face like me.
Just another casualty of war - 

it never ends...

  •  

My diary tells the truth.

From dust to dust, my ashes go, 

reincarnated into the earth.

  •  

He leaves his family, Vietnam Service Ribbon, the Vietnam Campaign Ribbon, the Distinguished Service Medal, and a Meritorious Service Medal behind. 

 

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Comments

author
Rickey Chatham

Memories of when my uncle Jimmy. Just call him John Doe. I remember him standing at the foot of my bunk bed... he was dressed in his army uniform. Was late, just returned to NAM. I stole a look, he looked down at me like in a trance. He stood there quite as a mouse,not to awaken his ten year old nephew. I fell back to sleep but I felt safe again. Mama sent him many boxes of cookies that he received airmail. I can only think what he was thinking... as he looked at me. I put myself in his shoes. But the battle was not over, later in life my uncle put a gun to his head and ended the nightmare inside him, eating him to pieces. PTSD. His body was cremated. never saw his body. He was mys second uncle to commit suicide. It effected me. I have suicidal tendencies. I dedicate this story poem to all veterans of wars that surfer PTSD and injuries. He is John Doe. There are many stories like him. You can not put a bandage on a brain. As a veteran myself, I honor the fallen ones that sacrificed themselves for our country,in RED/WHITE/BLUE. Salute our flag. 

Reply
author
Ru T

Great write explaining the untold suffering that goes on after wars end. The battle with the mind. Ru.

Reply
author
Dean Kuch

For a few the war is over as soon as they step off the plane.
For others the war NEVER ends and they deal with the trauma daily.
For many, they grow tired of the nightmares, flashbacks and everything associated with having been made to endure the horrors of combat. The war end for them when they stick the business end of a firearm in their mouths and pull the trigger...for the last time.
You captured all of these emotions and more in this stunning write.
Excellent, BOO!
Voted & Liked!

~Spooky☠
 

Reply
author
Olivia J. Wright

No!! You can’t put a bandage on a - Brain
The mental pain can’t be seen.?.. 
Thankyou for sharing a heart rendering -story, so well-expressed with its real raw (profound ) traumatic emotions  ✍️ 

 

Reply
author
Terry Kay

I have had family go to war but never heard a word of the horrible things they saw. I saw a limp in In my step dad walk from a war injury but never a word.  I have always thought it must have been horrible to never hear a word spoken.  This is a moving thought provoking piece of  the honest reality of war and should be thought provoking to everyone.  I  was so moved. thank you for sharing your story.

Reply
author
Rickey Chatham

My uncle Jimmy never said a word about NAM. Silence is deadly. He silenced the tremors and night sweats in his head. Thanks for your feedback. BOO ghost~

Reply
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