Ruby Alexandra Beloz

WELCOME HOME

I came home from Vietnam.
I just finished doing my turn and my tour.
I served my country just like my Dad did before.
When I got off the plane there was not band or parade;
I didn’t recognize these people at the airport

I didn’t understand why they were all yelling at me
calling, “Baby killer!”
Who were these freaks with long dirty hair?

Don’t they know what I just went through?
What right do they have to judge me so?
Why won’t they just all leave me alone?
They have not seen the blood I have seen;
They have not been where I have been.

Why do they scream obscenities at me?
Don’t they know I fought in the jungles long and hard?
I fought for God and my country;
The freedom they breathe
is because of Soldiers and men like me

Don’t they know or have a clue
How many of my friends I left behind?
Some got buried and some never did.
Some were called MIAs.
Some became POWs.
All were never seen again

What do these Freaks think we were fighting for?
Who are these people standing in these lines?
Why are they carrying these hand painted signs?
They preach Love and Peace
without making any sacrifices.

Who is this girl with flowers in her hair?
Why does she spit in my face?
Tell her I served my country like my Dad did before,
when serving your country meant so much more.
He served his country and they welcomed him home;
they thank him for his unselfish courage,
slapped him on the back and called him a Hero

When I served my country I never ask why;
I was willing go and die for God and my countries flag.
All I ever wanted was to be thanked!
Who are you people who stabbed me in my back?

I am home now just a faded memory
of a place where there were no Victories
only body counts higher then our enemies

I stand so alone without anywhere to go.
So I search out for my Brothers
who understand where I have been
and what I have seen.
Together we try to heal our wounded souls

Only a Soldier’s Soldier really knows
the price of Freedom was not so cheap.
We paid for it with our blood, sweat and tears
and the memories of Brothers who didn’t make it home.

You call me a Baby Killer,
I say, “fuck you”
Until you have walked
Where my boots have been!