Faye Sizemore


He wore a flannel shirt
in the Carolinas` heat
… the man near
where I took my seat

His eyes…
they held a faraway look
though I saw his gaze
touching upon my notebook

I continued to write
I knew he was a vet
They all have a look
that you cannot forget

Of which war
I could not tell
His age was a mystery…
I knew he had been through Hell

He was restless and wary…
wanting to bolt for the door
as if he could escape
his memories of war

He asked what I wrote
and I told him I mused
all about battles now gone
He stayed my hand from writing on

Saying to write instead for him
because he so needed
to share some words of his
and I quickly heeded

Quote… ‘The worst part of war
you can write and truly say
… the very worst part
is that it never goes away…

The battles are never done
… some still fight
and will…
till the last setting sun…’

He wore a flannel shirt…
shivering in the heat
of the South Carolina day…
living proof of the price

… that he still had to pay

Author’s Note: Written at the Columbia, SC, VA