He begged but for a crumb, and searched eternally for a home.

His life is one of madness, one seldom heard or even seen.

for he travels in dual worlds, which inexplicably he is caught between.

Reality is a concept that is as foreign as his unsung war,

For he spends his solitary days reliving the confinement he bore.

He is a prisoner of his mind…and he is still doing time,

Forever now, in these city streets does he continually roam.

He cowers at the people he meets, and runs when told to get in line.

He wanders all day aimlessly singing an old and forgotten song,

And recoils in terror, for he still thinks he is in Hiaphong.

For dual worlds does he, in madness live…trying to forget…

trying to forgive.

But how can he forget, let alone forgive,

when his mind all day long, runs the same old drill?

Dong Ha,

Thanh Hoa,

Hue,

Khe Sahn

And at last…

Hiaphong…

For these are his dreams

That walk with him each day,

They are the destinations

That have made him this way.

For he walked that mile

At least a hundred times

And by fates cruel chance

Visions of hell consumed his mind.

For he was a soldier

He was a marine.

Now he is just plain crazy

to all that he meets.

for he lives still in that other world.

Where one can smell death as it

rises with the jungles steam.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004