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1968

Vietnam As a rhapsody of death plays like the weary wind, I slowly inch through the choking fear of each blood spent memory. I am a grain of sand in this scattered mind of uncertainty and for now the pain has fallen away like my fellow soldier's whom live no more. Onward, pushing, I crawl in bitter memory of my homeland and my newborn son I may never see. a weary song in a distant field a bird flutters ____________________________________ In Vietnam, all helicopters were called "birds"

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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Date: 9/26/2017 4:35:00 PM
It's a shame this isn't getting more read! Dern good writing here, congrad's & thanks for entering. Light & love
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Date: 9/4/2017 9:00:00 PM
Very moving use of metaphor and simile, Rick--CONGRATS! Janice
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