Uncertain Way

He walks, wary, the
Uncertain Way. Eyes down,
searching every stray mark, every
misplaced pebble.
One mistake could mean
horrible death.
He'd rather be home.

The team crouches, hearing
whispers of death in thudding dust and
popping concrete, searching for
the shooter's domain. Fighting in
impossible conditions against an
invisible enemy.
They'd rather be home.

She adjusts the torque,
dropping perilously low in
a hot LZ, with hot lead served up
in generous proportions.
With the wounded aboard,
she lifts away.
She'd rather be home.

Controlled chaos,
he strives against time, in
heroic attempts to stem the flow.
Splattered with blood, and
spittle and
a whispered prayer,
He'd rather be home.

They don't choose to be there,
facing death every day, striving to keep
an uneasy peace.  They
do not want to kill anyone,
they simply desire the
safety of home.

The face of war has
changed today; the enemy hides
in the teeming crowd.
He wears no uniform, to
tell him apart, his only demeanor
a murderous heart.

When you see a soldier, give
him your hand, thank him
profusely for his sacrifice.
It is for you that he walks
the uncertain way, because,
believe me, Brother,
he'd rather be home.

DWD 12