Diane Moore

WHERE WERE YOU?

Do you remember where you were, when mini skirts were the rage, music rang thru the streets and the Beatles where on stage? Where were you over thirty years or more ago? Were you here, were you there?

Where were you?

Were you working at home, or safe, student bound.

Where were you?

Jungle fights, bombs at night, planes and choppers in mystical flight.

Did you know your neighbors then; play with them when they were ten. Did you watch, as you grew up? Did you see them leave never to come back again? Did you call them your best friend? Perhaps your, brothers, sisters, sons, or husbands, buddies, they might have been the ones, went away, where did they go, that one you loved, all those years ago.

Where were you at six pm, left here and sitting back not a worry then, watch your TV and relax till ten, did you see the news, did you even watch it way back then, CBS, ABC, NBC, all of them say the same, MIGS and SAMS, the fire fights, body bags and lonely nights, to many flags burning bright and Vietnam a country new to fight.

Bombs, crashes, blood, tears. The fear on faces, all those years

Where were you on Monday night did you worry of that battle being done tonight, Tuesday. Wednesday passes by, GIs there and back again. Did you see them travel home? Did you welcome them home back then? Thursday, Friday, the weekends here, war goes on. It’s Saturday again. Where were you at this week’s end?

Sunday’s church day, you went inside, did you pray, for those strangers to return, home, safe and alive.

Boys they left, with smiles and laughs, none of which they remembered to bring back with them. Aged within a month or two, innocent lost for them and where were you my dear old friend?

Where were you, when your flag was burned, when riots raged, and the country turned? When Taps was played and tears were shed, did you turned your head?

Where were you when children cried holding hands on their mother’s side? Did you think to thank those wife’s of men who fought the battles way back then? Did you think to comfort the grieving child who ran away and never cried, who left the childhood toys then to become a grown up child at ten, did you think to say a prayer for them or did you say it was good for them good that your dad lost his life, baby killers and bombers of those who can not fight, how hard would it have been to say, your dads a hero and he was my friend things will be okay.

Where were you when, mothers asked, where’s my son you must be wrong he is still young and can not be gone, Please oh God, no, I don’t what that, you can’t be telling me any of that, just take the telegram back.

Where were you, on your days end, did you think to thank those men still just boys and girls back then, the ones who seem alive and well retuning home after time in HELL, they passed you by in the city streets and in the stores did you know, or just turn your head?

Where were you as they came back home, blind and beaten, battered and torn?

In VA hospitals to their life’s end; drugs for pain way back then, is an easy way out to take a life, but then nothing for them ever will end. Some are homeless and tired and sick (Agent Orange and diseases): such worlds of hurt both in their hearts and to the touch.

Pain in the soul is hard to bear; but then, did ever you really care?

Where were you, when Taps was played, for all those life’s that gave the Freedom that you love so much, on those long cold winter days? Where were you in the spring and fall; more names of men and women are now engraved on the WALL?

Did you see that coffin cold as steel, covered in the Stars and Stripes exiting planes and boats and trains, soldiers standing toe to toe, end to end. White marble markers rise to reach out and cry, please no more but more are placed in the towns they grew up in boys were boys but they died as men, God please stop this awful thing, called war and bring the daddies home once more.

Where were you the day American’s died? Both young and old, tired and still true to the red white and blue always keeping to the country’s Pride. Working both day and night, never stopping even during those fire fights.

Freedom is not free and not for sale, you have to pay with blood and time spent in Hell, this is done for us by the soldiers who were the colors of green and blue and BDU, and taken for granted by more than a few. Freedom is what keeps us able to live, and our spirits new.

Prisoners for years in a hole in the wall, no beds or blankets nothing at all, tied by ropes beaten and starved holding faith and hiding tears in hopes that their freedom would come in a year. To bad it lasted more than they wanted but damn, they had the strength and it taught them that if you hold to the beliefs of our fathers Freedom is precious and it is worth dying; racked with pain beyond belief, standing fast until their final fate. Hungry and cold and full of pride, they day that plane landed the families all cried, tears of joy and tears of sadness, for the ones than landed and the ones still missing and hopefully not abandoned. Returned with honor was their creed; never again is our need.

Where were you, as the years unwind, families tired, and the years unkind? No truth, to those who wait and wait some, is still known; what’s their fate?

Where were you when tears were cried, tears of years and years of fears, Tracks from some have long since dried; both tears on the faces and hidden in the countryside, others still are wet and, longing for the final goodbye.

Where were you when soldiers died, and America cried?