THE PERMISSION SLIP
Johnny cries in a foxhole begging not to be seen
Kissing his Cross praying it’s just a bad dream gone obscene
Feeling a lot more scared than he does a mean lean fighting machine
He squints thru the watery sites of his shaky M-16
“Please God, I’m so sorry for everything that I’ve done”
Shots ring out but not from Johnny’s gun
The only thing he’s fighting is the feeling to get up and run
“Please God, I just want to go home and see my newborn son”!!!!!!!!!!!
He hugs his helmet as his brothers give fire
Tormented by a terrible song sung by a friendly choir
He can’t take the noise anymore. He’s come down to the barbed wire
He sinks in his hole and feels like a liar
Played out on the news as chaos ensues
Explosions ooze and usually in twos.
All in front of the camera crews, all of whom give rave reviews
In the insanity of it all, Johnny cries and calmly ties his shoes
Dead black of night and overwhelmed by fright
Johnny retreats and gives up the fight
Runs into the trees and he sobs out of sight
Once afraid of the dark, he’s now petrified of light
Covered in leaves, he loudly grieves
Praying for answers about what he truly believes
About a faceless enemy of terrorists, killers, cowards and thieves
A magazine clip once hidden, Johnny now retrieves
He stands up locked and loaded
Runs back to his boys just as a grenade exploded
Suddenly his hearing’s pretty much eroded
Not to mention his chest. Bloody and bloated
Caught up in a silent fire-fly frenzy, Johnny assumes his position
Back in his foxhole resuming his mission
He unloads his clip in thunderous repetition
Unfortunately, he’s oblivious to his condition
I guess he got caught up beating the enemy into submission
He takes pride in the demolition of the opposition
Johnny reaches for a photo but needs a physician
In all actuality he really needs a magician
Preferably one who doesn’t believe in superstition
Just please anybody but a mortician
He lays back and thinks about life and this war tradition
About this worn out edition and his recent rendition
Hoping he did ok for afterlife’s final audition
He prays for his son and for his life’s ambition
Hoping that one day he can make the transition
“Please let him be a technician, a tactician, or maybe an optician
Let him go to Yale or Harvard and let him have enough for tuition
Please let him be a statistician, or an obstetrician, or better yet a jazz musician
Lord please hear my prayer about life and its definition
I pray for the end of all war. Yes Lord, I pray for its abolition
Please pass on my proposition to everyone especially politicians
God can you hear me? Can you hear my transmission?
Let them focus on cancer, the homeless, and malnutrition
Answer me Lord!!! I demand recognition!!!!!
I’m sorry for yelling Lord. Forgive the imposition
I just can’t comprehend this acquisition by this coalition
And this damned war of attrition
How did all of this come to fruition?
Who put the key in this ignition?
Why can’t we stop its emission?
I just wish I was fishin’
Instead of dyin’ in a foxhole prayin’ and wishin’
Please Lord, call time out! It’s time for intermission
This world can use some Heavenly intuition
It’s time for a Fatherly admonition or quite possibly a reposition
We definitely need an extradition
Just look at the last 2000 years and our poor exhibition
Full of hatred and evil, sins and inhibition
What’s happened to peoples’ morals and values? Why the decomposition?
We can’t even mention you anymore. A religious prohibition.
Not even in schools now. What a crazy omission!
Some stupid law somewhere made up by some ignorant commission
It’s getting crazy down here. Like the Spanish Inquisition”
Johnny kisses the photo and sees the white light
He smiles and says “So this is what its like. I had a premonition
I have sinned Lord. I say this of my own volition
Please hear my admission”
A white gate slowly opens removing the partition
“Come in son, you have my permission”
©Copyright April 14, 2004 by Ron Ryan