0 Misery of War

I'm not a hero. I'm not a shinning star. I only did what I was told to do. We all did what we thought was right. We were blessed, to be able to come home. We saw so much, each day, and night, it was just not right. Misery, pain, rain so much, never dry, at times, didn't even try. Socks, and feet ever wet, under trees we tried to sit. To kill, or be killed, we asked each other, why did we come? Sometimes, we sang, "Please Remember Me" We came to save our nations, and others, not our own. We became brothers, maybe not by the same Mothers, but by the same sense of honor, of family, and love of our homeland. That was everyone's plan, to come together, side by side, trying not to show our fear. But letting each know, how much we cared. The enemy is near, we are always , listening with our ear, face to face at times, as we passed over the lines. So many dead, as we are led, toward the end of the fight. We prayed with all our might, that He would hear. As we all slowly came home, each in our own world, praying to find, finally, Peace of mind. But, night after night, day after day, they are still in our head. We try with all our power, at our work-place, we do our work, talk to the family we love. But never enough, to withstand the hurt, of all the ones, lost on foreign shores. If not in body, then in mind, and what we really left behind. We lost so very much during those days. We prayed, Please God, don't let us lose our faith, that will carry us through, these days, and nights, of living hell. Knowing in the end, there will be you. The closet holds a worn uniform, and a hat on the rack. Jacket metals still attached. Countless Purple Hearts given, for wounds that could be seem. What about the wounds that are deeply hidden, not to bleed through, but to fester, within our soul, that can't be told? From more than half a century, behind closed doors, never to fall upon the floor. Protected from eyes, to be seem, like a ghost hanging, dark, and forbidding, always ready to come forward, bringing back to mind, raging fires, and the dying. To wake up, in a rain of cold sweat, body shaking so violently, can't stand upright. Praying to God, "Please Remember Me" and let me finally sleep in peace. Years pass, and the Memories fade, perhaps, finally, Peace of Mind --Ollie M., 75