November 11, 2011. Happy Veterans Day. To commemorate this hallowed day, we at Whiteout Press wanted to bring to our readers a poem by Christopher Marshall Towsley. While the POW/MIA shield promises, ‘you are not forgotten’, too often these days our veterans are just that - forgotten. We left them behind in Korea. We left them behind in Vietnam. We even left them behind in Iraq. And now, we’re leaving them behind here at home.
They go away our beloved sons and daughters, husbands and wives. They come back veterans. Ask any of them – they didn’t fight for Goldman Sachs, Exxon Mobile or the Republicans or Democrats. They fought for America, the American people and that basic fundamental belief in liberty and freedom. And what do they come home to?
Their job given away because the company couldn’t wait for the President to stop extending tour duties. An unemployment rate twice the national average because America’s companies don’t want someone who walks or moves a little slower because he or she had shrapnel taken out of their leg. A closed door from their representatives and government officials when they’re forced to plead for a little assistance. Endless waiting lists for basic treatment of their battlefield wounds. Indifferent and uncaring bureaucrats completely walled off from any human sympathy or basic appreciation. And the most heartbreaking of all – 16 US veterans commit suicide every single day. Read the Whiteout Press article, ’16 US Veterans Commit Suicide Every Day’ for details. Also, be sure to read the Whiteout Press Special Report, ‘Americans Abandoned, POW/MIA’s in Vietnam’. If you care at all about America’s soldiers and veterans, it will break your heart.
That leads us to the focus of today’s article – a poem titled, ‘MIA’ by C M Towsley. You can email Mr. Towsley at firstname.lastname@example.org.
The term missing in action does little to justify,
That War over the years,
is a collection of tears,
from some of our bravest Guys.
And their stories are untold,
their trails gone cold,
And to honor their memories proper,
But the, so bitter pill,
remains unswallowed, still,
like the sound of that last chopper.
You see Vets from the Nam,
had to fight with one hand,
fought for JFK’s Ghost and ideals,
But amidst the bloods spatter,
had to say “It don’t matter”
as the green machine spun its wheels.
And when they finally believed,
that they had been deceived,
and they, in fact all, were expendable.
it was then they fought on,
often well into dawn,
proving nothing but they, were dependable.
But to think of the Guy,
left out there to die,
as the last rotor sounds faded off,
is a thought of the making,
unreal and heartbreaking,
as the enemy smiled and scoffed.
And off You were lead,
to a life lived in dread,
where disbelief’s all You could offer,
although each day passed,
in Your mind what would last,
was the sound of that last chopper.
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And You lived out Your Life,
not forgetting Your Wife,
But Her name and Her face,
seemed to fade.
And Your captors laughed,
more, as each year passed,
at the sad resigned face that You made.
And the fact that they kept You,
and made them forget You,
never replaced the day
where crouched in the bamboo,
they came for You,
as the rotors sound faded away.
-Christopher Marshall Towsley, October 2011