Welcome To The
RADIO RESEARCH COMMUNICATIONS
UNIT VIETNAM
Thoughts of a Warrior Poet
Yesterday
It wadn 't too long ago, when I 'as out playin 'by the squeaky' ol' witidmill on our ranch in West Texas, an' dreamin' about the world outside. The wonder of it all an' my' vivid imagination made some fantasies that are still as fresh all, clear as they were then, when I didn't have the understandin' of reality I do now. When I first heard of Viet Nam, it was a dark an 'forbiddin 'place. But it wasn 't long before I 'd started seem' myself as a warrior who would go an' fight to stop the spread of Communism, an' make this strange place safe for mankind. Now, reality' has shifted an' turned the tables on ever thing I once thought was reaL
When youth had hold of yesterday
And time seemed slow to pass away,
My thoughts were wings on which I'd fly
Through fantasies in my minds eye.
The child the grew since on the hill, When wind would blow the squeaky mill,
When thoughts would soar the vast unknown,
And time just marked the years I'd grown.
Now, yesterday's in dream's embrace,
The fantasy or foreign place,
From which I've left and come alone,
And time's the trail I'm riding on.
The trail has led from peace to war,
From all the things I'd known before,
To places where I have to deal
With hidden terror, dark and real.
It's like I've left the world and passed
To zones where wretched souls are cast,
Where peace is just an idle dream
That soothes my mind when fear's extreme.
A moment's peace, that's free of fear;
Is scarce and guarded near and dear,
And every day that I survive,
I thank the Lord that I'm alive.
I've grown so numb, so cold and hard,
From people dying, dead and charred.
From dreams so real, I wake at night
In sudden screams with fists clenched tight.
The sun is down, the day has passed,
And rain is falling cold and fast.
As darkness comes to steal the day,
I hang my head and sorely pray.
I pray I'll see the light again,
And all my friends and countrymen,
That none of us will have to die, And for a place that's warm and dry.
I pray my dreams are kind to me With bygone scenes from memory;
Or just the time to spend at rest,
Without those dreams, so death-obsessed.
A flash of light! The crack of lead!
A zinging sound right by my head!
I turn and look in my alarm,
And dive to save myself from harm.
The time has come to end my prayer, To search the night for what's out there.
To mourn the loss of yesterday,
When time seemed slow to pass away.
For yesterday's in dream's embrace;
__The fantasy or foreign place,
From which I've left and come alone;
And time's the trail I'm riding on.
