Lou J. Klaiber

SOME MEN DIED

Time
is nothing but distance
from here,
to the end of our lives.

In Vietnam,
time ended
screaming,
moaning,
and staring into my eyes.

Time!

Wounded and dying…!

Morphine time.

Young faces
desperate to live,
… gasping for breath
as they died.

… And so we killed,
and killed our way home.

Killing,
as death remained in our eyes.

Now,
we grow old,

… sleeping between today
and memory.

… and the mirror of morning remains
at war,
… alone,
and always.

Our eyes remain at war.

We grow old…
there.