The Wall (Memorial Day poem)

A poem for this Memorial Day...

It’s a dark, gloomy day; slate clouds fill the sky.

The rain lashes down, leaving nothing dry.

Rain streaks the black wall in heartbroken tears

For those still unable to cry, though all these passed years.

I’ve never been there, I’ve only been told

Of The Wall honoring those who now lie cold.

Deep in the black rock tens thousands of names

Scar its face, reflect the pain.

They battled in jungles, riddled with traps;

They slept in camps, infested with rats.

They faced bloody clashes, saw terror-filled eyes;

Fought through the night ’til the hazy sunrise.

Daylight did nothing to disperse the dread

Of finding a Charlie set to shoot them dead.

Civilians and soldiers looked one and the same,

Drowning our sons in unbearable strain.

Some turned to drugs, unable to cope;

Misery mounted, and hearts lost their hope.

Then came the wound that caused them to fall;

They’re eyes lost their life, thus their name on The Wall.

The stone daily mirrors so many faces:

Visitors of all classes, peoples, and races.

Some mock—they don’t really care;

Others gawk—they just aren’t aware.

But there’s always the old man, standing alone,

Staring at his friends’ names etched into the stone.

He went over there prepared to die

But not to come back as the one who survived.

Immense slabs of rock can’t ever repay

The cost, the loss, felt each on their day.

Their deaths cut deep; though they gave their all,

The pain is not deadened for “duty’s call.”

I hate romanticizing—it hurts, not heals—

But when I think of this place, I can’t voice what I feel.

There’s a sense of inadequacy, I feel so small

To respect the deaths, the sacrifices, of the men on The Wall.

The Liberty Writer