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by Gary Jacobson © January 2000 On a battlefield far, far away, Her son lay wounded in the fray In head, neck and leg, The telegram did say. But the cable revealed no more, Tho a mother's weary heart did implore For her beloved one, Her first born son, Sent far, far away to an alien shore. This dear mother with all her heart Loved her son. So found no solace when her beloved one Made a nightmare come true, Earned a purple heart too With his All American blood won, A nation's grateful award For warriors fallen by the sword. Can this be true Oh Lord, Her son's innocent youth Forever stolen. Suddenly there came sickening Fear quickening, Thoughts of the dead, In a mind clogged with dread Harbored inexplicably near, Quivering queer. Rife thoughts came coupled with fear. No more would her son?s laughter, His sweet mother hear, From this time on, to hereverafter... The telegram came crashing To senses dealt a most devastating, Horrible blow. This contentious war Had laid her beloved son low. Fallen was the son nurtured at her breast Fighting far, far away At his countries behest. After the telegram, not a word did she hear Though in her heart, embers of it did sear for two long months lived In a world of time frozen fear. All meaning lay shrouded. Her wetted eye clouded With a morning-to-night tear. Bleak future hovered over her unclear, Paralyzed with wall-to-wall All consuming fear For her beloved one, Her sweetborn son The fruit of her womb held oh so dear. With mind in disarray At the horrible price to pay, She sought to make sense. Oh what had she done To deserve such a penance? Deep, long and forlorn, In her heart of hearts cried, Fearing her son first-born, Loved with the heart of her had died... This sent her poor soul reeling, This festering feeling Bearing mournful thought, Her muddled mind besot, That she would not, Could not Abide... Her son HAD NOT died! She would not let him without a fight go, Into the valley of the shadow. Though fallen egregiously to the foe, Her great love would not allow cruel death, Her son to the God's of war sow. So as one month upon another grew, An unthinkable, Most abominable, Sinking fear grew too. An apparition, filled her soul with dread. The foul spectre of the dead, Slowly, Inexorably, Raised its hoary head, Haunting her, Disturbing her, Breeding anguish in a mother?s heart bled. With ungodly, awful pall, Death grinned at her with evil gall. My mother saw death's phantom. Her spirit plummeted to rock-bottom, In foul dreaming, Silently screaming, Why, oh why, did my son have to fall? Why did my son answer grim battle's call? With malice death's apparition In angered frustration, Bearing trepidation, Did appear. Hovering grimly near. Malevolently, Hatefully, A Mother's sweet spirit did deride, Assailed her from every side. She called on her faith, for her God to guide, With unfaltered faith righteously applied. Bewildered at her nations misspent pride. She tried hard with brave fear to hide Welling tears that poured constant, Flowing like summer rain persistent. As at this immoral war, Mother softly swore. Did war not her moral son snatch, Threaten from "The World" his life to scratch? Picked in the flower Of his youthful tide, She found she could no longer abide, This cruel, foolish war, That good men with lip service, Say they abhor. Till the day when home her son came, She lit for him an eternal flame. A glorious, sacred shrine To burn throughout the spectrum of time. And setting by his picture Hour on hour did pine. Praying mightily that her son, Her beloved one, By God's miracle be delivered From despots enangered On a far, far away shore, Where he fought a far, far away war. She bowed her weary head, And in humility plead, Knowing war was raging With war professional's prompting. They got us embroiled in this contentsious, Fractious, Carnage called war, Good men with lip service, say they abhor. Corporate conglomerates For greedy gain promoting, The need for war extolling, Sending young boys fighting and dieing, War weapons wielding, Leaving a nation of mothers alone and crying. For what seemed an eternity No word came that she could see, Nary a hint, Of where her beloved had been sent. Oh the bereavement, the pain, Driving a loving mother nigh insane. What if her son lay moldering in the grave, Immoral war threatening his moral soul To deprave? She prayed mightily, her son's soul to save. In silent bereavement she tore her hair For a war deemed blatantly unfair. Nam's civil war unworthy of a nation's care, Certainly not worth one drop Of American blood shed there. She delivered her prayer To her Lord in deep despair, To the holy of holies, temple circle of prayer. She picked up her phone, Her congressman called. "My son's hurt and alone, Won't you help bring my wounded son home?" Certainly it was not meant for my baby boy To die there, To lie there, Lost, Alone, So far from home. Her clergymen she contritely called, Holding in check miffed spirit appalled, Empassioned by war?s atrocity galled. Letters to anyone, And everyone She scrawled, To alleviate war's evil apparition, The killing supposition, That her sons Blackened grave palled. She beseeched them all, Please give your all, Find my wounded son, My beloved one, My meaning for existence, Sent away to war with imprudence. Now my son is tempest tossed, Lost, So all alone, And so far from home. I heard in a faraway hospital bed My mother's weary call, Though doctors said They thought me nearly dead. I heeded my mother's plaintive call. Her love gave new life wherewithal. I arose from the shadow of malevolent death, Felt anew love's aromatic breath Shaking off death's foul specter Felt a far, far away love administer Enticing faith breathed inexorably into me, Shook off war's sword hanging over me, My life love was restoring, Strengthening, With a mother's sweetest love possessing. Mother's sweetly bouqueted balm Brought a peaceful, Restful, Calm. A mother's faith brought her son home, No more to be lost, No more tempest tossed, No more alone. To my mother's sweet love and faith I owe my life!
graphics and Pictures 
from the lens and poet's pen of a combat infantryman That will make you feel like you were there beside me in combat! |
