YES I’M A MIDDLE AGED WARRIOR,
FROM A WAR MANY YEARS AGO.
I NEVER REALLY SPOKE OF IT,
AND THE SCARS, THEY DIDN’T SHOW.

I BURIED THE MEMORIES DEEP INSIDE,
AND COULDN’T SHARE MY PAIN.
THE WORDS LIKE BRAVERY, VETERAN, AND PRIDE
JUST NEVER MEANT THE SAME.

NOW THAT I’M GETTING OLDER,
MY STORY I MUST TELL.
THE WAR I FOUGHT IN VIETNAM,
WAS MUCH AKIN TO HELL.

THE HEAT, THE SMELL, THE NOISE OF WAR,
THE CRIES OF DEATH AND PAIN.
YOU TOOK A HILL AND GIVE IT BACK,
THEN TOOK IT BACK AGAIN.

I DIDN’T THINK OF POLITICS,
I HAD TO FIGHT THE WAR.
WHILE OTHER CRAZY LUNATICS,
WITH BODY COUNTS KEPT SCORE.

THE MEMORIES OF THE FRIENDS I LOST,
WILL ALWAYS TORTURE ME.
SOMETIME I CLOSE MY EYES AT NIGHT,
AND THEIR FACES I STILL SEE.

I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE OVER,
IF I COULD MAKE IT HOME.
IT DIDN’T TAKE ME LONG TO SEE,
THAT WHAT I THOUGHT WAS WRONG.

I DIDN’T WANT A BIG PARADE,
OR RIBBONS ON THE TREE.
JUST REALIZE THE PRICE I PAID,
AND OTHERS JUST LIKE ME.

THE PAIN AND SCARS OF VIETNAM,
I HANDLE THE BEST I CAN.
BUT THE WOUNDS RECEIVED FROM THE COUNTRY I LOVE,
I’LL NEVER UNDERSTAND.

– Lynda Moore