Talk to me of springtime loves,
With crisp days and mourning doves.
Let them coo their lamentful tune,
As young brides search to find their June.
Say that all will be ok,
As soldiers rise to start their day.
Since I don’t hear the hell of war,
I wonder what the fuss is for.
A young man goes to “man” a gate,
He knows not what will be his fate.
A truck starts coming way too fast.
His friend is caught between the mass.
He had to choose between the two,
He and the others or his friend so true.
The truck exploded in a burst so bright,
He said good-bye to his heart that night.
Darkness grips them like a fist,
With haunting sights of friends so missed.
They drink and laugh and say it’s ok,
While the stark reality hits them each day.
This is no fun, no pleasure cruise,
When guys you know, you start to lose.
The horrid heat, the aching cold,
And yet, they continue, all so bold.
What childhood play has turned so real?
What once was fun, now has a deadly feel.
Turn on the lights and make it go away,
Let me dream of springtime for another day.
CAWatson 06/19/2009
