Salute:

 It was 1918, and time of war,

when you were so very young and brave.

Time was different then and not like it is today.

For your life was truth and you always knew

exactly what you were fighting for.

Oh my lord...

I now know how you suffered in such agonizing pain

As shells from the front and death from the rear

Pored down like an unending rain.

Comrades in arms fell quickly by your side,

Yet, in the end, it was you and not them

Who had truly died.

However, it was their flesh from the poison gas

which melted quickly to their bone.

It was you though, who had survived

And endured the days of The Arden....

Only…only, to wander this life alone.

Scared in spirit and broken in soul

Your questions remain and linger on....

"why them lord and not I,

why did I not die in that agonizing hole"?

Yet survive you did, and to home you returned,

Only to discover that neither home nor family

Could nor would ever ease the pain

Of you... a wounded soldier

with 3rd degree burns wrought by hells stain.

Now the years have passed like a whispering wind

As you in your invisible silence prepare to greet your end.

Your days tumble now like weeds across the desert floor

As spirit soldiers from the past… softly knock at the door.

The thick smell of mustard now fills the air

And black canisters of death lie about here and there.

You rise to fight for life once more

Only to realize you will not win this war.

Whispers come to you…soft at first,

Then louder and louder, until you think your ears will burst.

Time to take the last hill they now sing

As you…all alone…close your eyes to this temporal dream.

Good night old solider…good night old friend

May your travels be light…may we once more…meet again.

~ Salute ~

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J. Allen Wilson © 2005