A Vietnam Veteran
He sits in his wooden chair by the fire, Sipping at his coffee preventing tire.
He is a veteran of the bloody Vietnam, The war that introduced the killer
napalm. His clothes consist of layers of wool, For protection from the bitter
cold. His hair is graying and kept a mess. A "GI" haircut, no more, no
less. Dull eyes stare vacantly of ruined blue, To hide the once childish living
hue. Once a child of normal life, So free of loneliness and constant strife.
Then placed to fight unfair foreign danger, To return to lies, criticism, and
anger. The pressure of society and its narrow rules, Exerted themselves into
boggled, mindless pools. Was he like a hero, to be accepted as one? Instead was
he rejected and truly gone? Bitterness sometimes enters deep in his heart, Yet
nothing can tear his patriotism apart. Secluding himself for society's wrong,
His need to escape has been bothering long. He leaves his cabin on a search for
good, Among the animals, and trees of wood.
Christy Sheveily, Author
