The Thousand Yard Stare

My eyes remain unfocused,

weary of what could lay on horizon.

It is called the Thousand Yard Stare,

a sign of a battle weary soldier.

All my eyes can perceive is fire and smoke,

attempting to burn the Vietcong out.

We are surrounded by forest and mountains,

with no relief.

The ashen smell radiating from the forests burns our noses,

there is no escape.

Still,

we converse, heal, live, and hope.

Constantly, we hear the engines of U.S. planes flying over us,

dropping napalm on our surroundings.

It contributes to these hellish conditions,

burning our noses more and drowning out our voices.

Fellow soldiers are discussing possibilities,

one of these days a plane will come to take them home.

I've moved long past those possibilities,

my hope is but a sliver.

Other soldiers are worse off than me,

they crumble on the ground in despair.

Reflecting on their lives,

they erase themselves from reality.

Our surroundings symbolize us,

burnt out, dying, dead.

Almost like zombies,

we carry on through this misery.

Knowing right now that we are living,

but soon we will all be dead.

Us soldiers are all trees of the forest awaiting napalm,

we just do not know when it will come.