WORDS OF THE WOUNDED
Their cries penetrate the thickness of the smoke filled air. Lives caught in the sharp twist of fate, entangled in the briars of war. The land upon which they lay exemplifies their existence and their fate. As the earth they are chewed up with the devastation of power unable to be bridled or controlled. Helpless and defenseless, they have given and sacrificed their mortality, lives and limbs in obedience to the war.
I have heard their cries and I have watched them bleed. One Marine cries out for his mother, another cries out cursing his God. Others lay there in silence making no sound at all while Starring in disbelief at their missing appendages. Shock had overcome them. Veins and bones exposed, flesh ripped and torn, held together by bandages and tape. These amenities are the comfort and offerings provided by a country at war.
There is no pomp and circumstance on the field of honor; there are no heroes just boys tossed into the arena. As Gladiators they fight and as warriors they bleed – sacrificing as necessary for the ultimate victory. Visions of medals do not dance upon the minds of these who have suffered so. Visions of home and childhood lost, a Mothers touch, a Fathers smile of approval, the laughter of a sister, the playful punch of a younger brother, the kiss of his sweetheart. These are the things we dream about on the battlefield of pain. This is the heart of the warrior and his heart will be the weapon he will use to survive.
The cries and the anguish mingle with the despair and silence. The look in the eyes of these casualties of war is unmistakable in their own right. Their stage is set in the crumpled and tattered surroundings of a defoliated paradise, carpeted with the Red Blood of youth.
A crimson sunset awaits them as they cry out to each other in the brotherhood of pain.
These my friends of peacetime,
are the Words of the wounded.
This is the cost of Freedom.