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J. Allen Wilson

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Books by J. Allen Wilson
  A soldiers Eyes
by J. Allen Wilson
Thursday, October 09, 2003

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Imagination is a gift that gives. a truth such as this, only takes.


This is inspired by an actual conversation that I had with a dear friend of mine who has just returned from Iraq on a two-week leave. He has already been there for ten months is due to return next week to serve another seven months. In my opinion, I feel this war is morally wrong.and These men …... This has become a killing field, not only for our brave soldiers, but for…...I can not go on…I am sorry…but… here is my poem.


 He came by today, How long now has it been since he went away?



 We shook hands and exchanged smiles; we spoke little at first,

You know, it has been awhile. I thought to myself “my, how he has aged.

I said without doubt, “man you look great”


Ten months in an Iraqi sun, avoiding a bullet, fighting on the run.

Sandstorms, sand fleas, camel spiders as big as  puppies.

Children without homes and homes without children, men without

Sons and burying the dead when the evening is done.


These were but a few things his tired and now old eyes said.

Gone was the innocence that they once had.

He then smiled some more and dropped his head.


He began to Speak, but more softly now

I listened intently as he began to tell,

Of what it was like to be in war.

He spoke of bodies that lay by the road,

How after a few days in the hot desert sun

They would begin to bloat. He spoke of things

That we, in the comfort of our homes would never see,

Not on CNN or even NBC, and how it seems, that

 No one even cares. He told me of his fears, yet he still managed

To speak of hope. He told of sand storms that

Would constantly blow, and he bit his lip as

He spoke of the night patrols.


So said I, choking back tears, not wanting to cry.

“How was it to once again see your family”?

I knew at once that I had hit the right chord, for

I saw the gleam return at once to his eye.

He began to tell me of his son who was but four

And now is five. He then pulled a worn and somewhat tattered

3x 5 from his wallets sleeve and began to chatter joyfully.

He told of church outings, and friends galore, yet I could tell

From the pain that ebbed from his voice, that he and many

Others did not want to study war no more. They wanted peace

Over this absurd insanity.


This piece is dedicated to all those whom are dedicated, those who do what they have to in spite of adversity. My hopes and my prayers will be with him and his.

I say this in closing, we all as a human race, must agree that we will  study war no more.

J. Allen Wilson 10-10-2003

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Reviewed by Rebekah Rosie Lang
A most excellent prose poem! Bravo and Brilliant! Standing Ovation and Roses needed to be thrown out everywhere lining the streets up to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue INTO the President's House and his FACE!
Applause! Applause!
Reviewed by Kate Clifford
From you lips to God's ear. Heart touching, soul haunting write.
Reviewed by J. Pajot
Being from a military family ( my father, now years passed, served in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam), I can relate so very sadly to this poem. While, thankfully, never my own experience, my imagination shudders at the thoughts. I hope your friend comes home safely...wonderful write in tribute to his sacrifice. Be well, Jim.
Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
o, this touched me deep inside--powerfully written...this will stay with me a while

that pic just emphasized the horror--and fit so perfectly

i'm saving this one to my library--BRAVO

and let us study war no more AIN'T IT THE TRUTH!!!!

(((HUGS))) and love,

karla. :(
Reviewed by Erica Ivory
Reviewed by Lisa Hilbers
Touched me deeply this did. I know the look, I've seen it. It's not one you ever forget. They are dedicated men and women,,,and we need to be dedicated in making them know we care about them. Lisa
Reviewed by Charles Mann (Reader)
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