His head leaned back, he stares into the
softly whirling fan;
The blades become the lifting force of
a 'copter, fully manned.
The fan's soft humming instantly becomes
a drowning din;
And chaos breaks the silence as the rage
wells up within.
Through eyes that close, the tears emerge,
the tears that fall like rain
Upon the lush green forest of that far-away terrain.
The soft rain falling, instantly becomes
the tears of man,
Who wakes from nightmares, screaming,
where he walked with gun in hand.
The sterling clouds somehow become the
smoke from distant flames,
Where villages no longer stand and
bodies have no names.
Once again he leaves his chair and leaves
the peace of home,
To stalk the streets surrounding, to capture
thoughts that roam.
But, God, his own familiar path is crowded
with unrest,
His steps are slow, and heavy is the
heartbeat in his chest.
He stares into the darkness where he spends
a lot of time;
Praying that, somehow, he can leave
this all behind.
And once again he drifts, he drifts.
The young man that used to be
Is proudly going off to war for
the sake of liberty.
Once again he trembles as he fights
the war within;
It rages in his mind once more.
God, will it never end?
Written in Nov. 1980, after watching a
televison program about Vietnam.
Edward W. Bond. I knew nothing of
P.T.S.D. and aside from having two other
family members that went to Vietnam,
I had blocked it from my mind. I knew only
that his mental anguish was very deep-seated
and Vietnam was not talked about.
Today, March 5, in the year of our Lord, 2000,
I re-dedicate "A War Within" to him
and to all his Vietnam War "buddies",
to my brother Guy Warnecke, and cousin Harold
Jr. Sullivan, who suffered then and continue
their healing processes today.
