Gordon W. Belling
Slowly through the jungle he walked, sweat was dripping from his head.
Could he last one more day he thought, when eight of his mates were dead.
For he had survived a mine blast, and some mortar fire as well –
They all could have ended his life, but on that he didn’t dwell.
He’d be flying out in two days; war would be over at last.
He’d see friends and the home he missed, so much, in the year gone past.
Johnny so carefully had climbed, now upon a rocky hill.
He’d heard incoming mortar, and it sounded loud and shrill.
He called out in vain, please help me were his begs.
His body in pain, and missing were his legs.
Blood poured from his head.
It’s what parents dread;
what happened to him.
Johnny’s eyes went dim.
He saw his past life, as it was quickly passing by.
But he heard a call, which had come from the darkened sky.
So slowly he opened his eyes, but the searing pain had gone.
And where there was nothing but dark, a large golden beacon shone.
While both his legs healed and strong, walked to double gilded gates.
And there he saw upon a board, names posted of fallen mates.
But suddenly he lay awake, while amid his fearful screams,
realized, he was having another, of those recurring dreams.
©Copyright August 2007 by Gordon W. Belling