Those Who Wait

JH Smith


This war, they call Viet Nam

Might be called the war of the one man soldier

My brothers at arms are closer than blood

But—Never too close I say

Today they are here

Tomorrow rotated or death has ripped them away

Why am I here? What have I done

To be ripped from family and friend

For it is not only I who’s life has been changed

But also those loved and who will love me until the end

My nights, long filled with unknown danger and fright

Her nights, sleepless, filled with unknowing and dread, the price she pay’s

I look out though eye’s that have seen too much

I bend beneath the shadows of death, my companions each day

Her days are made by the TV News, searching for a much loved face

Yet, fear grips her heart as the names from the list of lost are read

I wrap my arms around, and hold her in my heart

3am as I sit and stare into the black jungle wall, with eyes blood red

3am, her arms are wrapped around her tear stained pillow

As she whispers then calls out my name

Two people lives, forever changed, older than years

Innocents lost, dreams put by the way, never again to be the same

But I worry most for her, what would happen

If perhaps, the day comes, that from this war I don’t return

Forever gone away


The Painting- Homea- is by Norm Bergsma