_The Battlefield.
_The cracked bell like sound, of the ancient IV bottles, had long since gone. exiting.together, with the Gangrenous death, and Amputation,
to which so many of our friends painfully, and in some cases, suicidally succumbed.
Evolving into a crush less rush, of a sound made even more mysterious by the liquid contained within.the wheeling free form drips of IV intervention.
The soft lilt, of the medical professionals who try to live normal lives,
when a specter like death, tugs at their elbow, reminding them every minute of it's imminent curtain call.
But the Lucky ones, We lucky few, who have left our conscience, and bravery, in The World's Squared Circle.
The ones who have returned intact, but in tatters.
Jobless, Homeless, All but deserted by friends, and brothers alike.
The Hero who pines for a drink, or a fix, the only solitude to dull their incomprehensible pain, and mental anguish.,
The Rehab that starts with hope, and ends in triumph.Is still too seldom seen.
The triumph of the Soldiering Vet, He or she, The red cross, red crescent, Medical Corps people.
The Nato Soldier who staunches the blood of a comrade without understanding his native tongue.
But the Heroism of Humanity is evident in these, the chosen ones.,
No matter what the conflict. From civil, to Greek, Cypriot, to WW1, and 2.and Vietnam, the folly will continue,.
The wonder of man will stand Above the flotsam of political panoply, and rise to celestial nobility, and from the heroism of the few:
TO: The Humanity, of the Many.
Grant
8-15-09