Those faces…they linger
Like ghosts in some long lost place
That only God knows
That only I wish
I could forget
They flash back
Like sun on silver
Like lost pennies found
Washed up on some beach
After finding their bottom
Only to return to where they started
Where with bent backs
They culled and hoed their rice
Working as though tomorrow
Wouldn’t come unless they gave
All they had and more
Yes more, even their lives
And in one lonely girl’s blank face
I saw all that 38 years could never forget
In her eyes there reflected
So many young men
Lost, hoping to find a moment’s peace
That would take it all back
All 18 months they barely lived
Till the day they die
See this: click on this link
Poetic Alchemist 
I hear what you’re saying, Meena. I look at Black on Black crime in Cleveland’s inner city, wife and child abuse, adult children taking advantage of their elderly parents and so on, I know what you mean. Thanks again.
Well know yes.. but still is hard to accept.. but much more torture happens at home… and no one cares…
Meena: We all know how and actually why. We call it war because our even our ugliest side requires a name. That doesn’t change it–that we put it into words. It’s inside all of us; it just expresses itself in varied ways. Thanks for stopping by.
I wonder.. how men can do this to fellow men? even animals r not that vicious and yet we call ourselves civilized!
Andrew: Thanks, and I hear you about remnants. Take care amigo.
very powerful! 2 of my uncles were marines there. Right after the war, thousands of Vietnamese were brought to Fort Chaffee, near us, and many still live here. A daily remnant.
Thanks Polona. Hope you are well.
moving photos, those… and touching words.
B: Thanks so much. Glad you enjoyed.
Dan: Thank you and glad you like the latest photos.
Yeah…
Love those photos over there, too!
like sun on silver and lost pennies found are my favorite two lines…lovely poem.