Soldier, Sailor – Air Force, Dad

 

 

          Life is like, well, I don’t know it,

It’s something that’s happening to everyone else and,

The walls become unbearable as time slips by,

 As slipping by is not my life,

But other people’s understanding of my existence.

 

I share this existence though and often

I find within my dreams a request,

A presentation of a mercy plea

But all my screams go unheard

And unsaid, be the living dead I have become.

 

It is so sad, that deep within my heart

Is a lava flow of energy to explore all around,

But disability from war has crippled everything

I once thought I owned;-

And handicapped, there is no ebb,

No flow no throwing caution to the wind

To expel a sense of being.

 

Far away, ventures once sought my presence,

And I would leap with all my energy

Into an abyss of nothingness but space

And clear skies,

And shouting the exaltation of

A freedom, parachutes unfurl as

I float peacefully down to Earth,

An Earth I covered like the wind

Of fortunes prayers as youth coursed

A victory in my own.

 

It is a tough call becoming casualty,

No wooden hero’s cross,

No poppy fields of blood to talk of,

No showing of my wooden legs,

My amputated scars or prosthetics,

No less the victim though,

My plague a malady of the mind,

My blindness and frequent abscesses -

My bodily pain, my vaccinations

Taking liberty to insanity,

Now my dormitory of Hell.

 

     She, sits alongside my wretched torso,

Watching age keep going every day, every day,

Every day,

     And she see’s the sheer exhaustion in my

Furrowed brow and sagging skin of features

Held too proud to talk of,

And she worries as she loves,

And I worry as I love this queen

Sat beside my side,

And my child plays upon,

Looking on

Looking on

Looking on,

And though I wish I live forever

Just to keep them safe,

I cannot hold the ground much longer,

Ashen, brought back from devastation

And destruction just to watch my own;

I’m heart-broken as waiting in the wings

Are the authorities at play, keen to keep

This Gulf War Illness under wraps,

And everything is tapped,

Everything I do is tagged as being

Born from far excuses,

And none bear a thought of conscience

For my experience as they try to pass on

Blame,

    

     And I am lame,

Lame from all the belief I once

Placed upon the West,

Lame from their cover-ups and negligence,

And as I sit within the confines of my tears

And see my life-force bleed away,

I pray, I pray that if my son’s become so,

Become so fatherless

They feel the need to strike,

They strike only a flame of fire

That will ignite their lust for life

And let the grief go free,

Go free,

Go free,

Go free and never,

Trust the lies that sitting pretty –

The country that I served in faith,

Upheld upon the future,

For in essence all is gone,

All but your very own,

Keep it well for deservedly,

You owe only you your life,

Keep it for the good and sing the songs

Of pacifists,

For nothings born of war

Except a hate we never understand,

  

     And lies, lies that only lead to truth

And when it comes, forgive the ignorance -

The monster of all that took the youth

To war, and beg a hero’s welcome no more,

And remember me, as Dad.

 

 

Michael J Waite 31^st March 2012.