Scars
Many veterans have scars, both inside and out.
I have signs of wounds which are still around.
There are many that do not earn a Purple Heart.
Some are visible on the surface, others are felt.
Damage done heals in as many different ways
As it is given to a body or spirit; pain betrays.
The scars of the mind are often never mended.
As bad as they are, body scars are easier tended.
Each action has a reaction and every war lingers.
A walk down memory lane can be the harbinger
Of experiences forgotten, but quietly life-changing.
With the recollection pain can resurface once again.
The mirror is not always as revealing as the eyes.
There are many things dusted off which elicit sighs.
I remember a penicillin line longer than a chow line.
Do the men who stood in the sun, waiting so patiently,
Carry a memory or a fear that they try to laugh away?
Are there residual effects that they pay for yet today?
Those are inside, but what of scars that can be seen?
Each time questioned, does the answer generate pain?
Once a soldier carried too much in proving his worth
And the chafing left him bleeding, with constant hurt.
He would not lay the load down and risk the ragging.
Did he wipe the blood off and straighten the rigging?
When nobody was looking, or in earshot, did he groan?
Concertina wire exploded and coiled around snakelike.
The scar appears to be a snake no longer able to strike.
Another time he relieved himself in big, brown pots.
Boards across kept him out of the teeming maggots.
Memory of that wriggling, squirming mass of white
Prevents him even today, of enjoying a bowl of rice.
Malaria struck first while in the field, two days on ice
Were an introduction of symptoms of a lifelong crisis.
When a grunt sees the little scars on his aging hands
Does it remind him of the burning sting at the time?
They were such tiny things, removed then in the field.
Compared to a friend’s wounds almost ending his life
Friend was blown out of an APC, lungs pierced, dead
For all practical purposes, but homeward it sadly led.
Mine were nothing, not worthy of formal recognition.
Things linger, even malinger, riding a soldier’s soul.
They never disappear even as they fade, still cause
Painful, aching recollections of things not pleasant.
We age but that point of youth is never too distant.
Dysentery struck the grunt and he slowly dissolved.
Humiliated, he carries the weakness yet unresolved.
Twenty seven times he walked into the paddies to bathe
Trying to rinse away the stench and stain on his heart.
It will never be better.
It too, is a scar.
All soldiers have them somewhere.
They can be the loss of a friend or their own.
Who was this kid, this young grunt?
It was I.
Mike Mullins, 5/10/08
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Be always safe,
Karen
I hear you: some of the scars are external, most are internal. Some have healed; some barely cover the surface of a festering mass of nightmares or pain. Some don't have Purple Hearts (like me), but all served ... why our goverment needs to keep its promises to our Veterans!! Well done, Sir. Welcome home.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.