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MEMORIAL DAY: IN MEMORIUM
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Monday, May 26, 2008
Subject: MEMORIAL DAY: IN MEMORIUM
Time: 12:38:00 PM EDT
Author: jayveerhapsody
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Subject: MEMORIAL DAY: IN MEMORIUM
Time: 12:38:00 PM EDT
Author: jayveerhapsody
I wrote In Memorium several years ago as a Memorial Day tribute to soldiers everywhere. It has been posted on my blog on at least two previous occasions and I thought I'd recycle it again today.
This wasn't initially intended to be a pro-war or an anti-war statement. I merely wanted to depict - in some small way - the untold human suffering of those who have sacrificed so much. Upon re-reading this, I've come to the conclusion that it is indeed anti-war. There's nothing good or noble or heroic about mass bloodshed and blind hate. Sadly, I doubt if we will ever see the apocalyptic day when mankind will turn their swords into plowshares or their spears into pruning shears........
Today I'm dedicating this to the memory of two WWII vets: my father John, who was in the Normandy invasion, and my Uncle Jack (John G.) who passed away yesterday.
Jon
In Memorium
They speak of death in such casual terms, those who have never known it. They distort, dilute, romanticize, minimize it in ways that can only be conceived in the profound ignorance of the living.
Will they think of death differently when its cold unexpected kiss touches their own lips, when the bitter finality of its presence lingers longingly on their useless tongues? Will they know then how unreasonable, unkind, unfair, unrewarding, unthinkable it is?
But I am only a soldier - hardly a name, nearly a statistic.
I do not pretend to understand those things which are beyond all reason. The breath of my soul still lingers in the luxury of abandoned innocence, the privilege of fleeting youth, the sweet memory of the cherished country that I long to see again but shall see no more. I hear the distant echoes of voices so familiar and see the fading images of faces so loved. They taunt me like traces of a half-remembered dream.
The stark reality of this moment is strangely remote: like someone else's surrealistic vision, someone entirely unknown. I yearn to wake up, yet I am awake - if only in vague consciousness and the agony of momentary lucidity. I also yearn for the blessed sleep that will eventually quench my gnawing weariness. This great, impending finality that haunts me is inevitable. I have resigned myself to the fact and there is no turning back.
It happened so quickly -
like the strike of a serpent, like the slash of a razor-edged blade,
in the instant of a moment and the gasp of a breath.....
In the white sun's burning glare, in the suffocation of an impossibly scorched desert afternoon, in a land more foreign and distant than mere dreams could ever take me,
I was struck down.
The shot stung like the crack of a whip. The silent scream that rose within me danced dumbly against the shimmering horizon, then faultered in complete helplessness.
In the deceiving wake of a tumbling shadow, I saw myself fall hard against the searing bosom of barren earth - alone, isolated, caught in the company of excruciating heartpounds and desperate gasps for breath.
My thoughts were slowly processed, laborously conceived. Mute words desperately tried to take shape. Everything drifted dumbly into the pool of impending darkness that was quickly flooding my mind.
Will my flowing blood ever quench the fierce thirst of these drifting sands? Will the moaning nomadic winds ever stop long enough to hear my anguished cries? Do the soothing arms of elusive night ever dare to embrace the lonely and abandoned?
At first, the numbness within me is too intense to even register pain. The pain comes later, gradually, stealthily - so firmly in concert with the brutal, burning earth that I can hardly distinguish one infliction from the other.
They speak of death in such glowing terms, those who have never known it. They speak of honor and heroics and selfless sacrifices and noble causes in ways that reek with profound ignorance.
Will they think of death differently after its cold, unexpected kiss touches my lips, after its unspeakable permanence has silenced my tongue? Will they hear the weeping whispers of mothers and fathers and widows and children and brothers and sisters and lovers and friends? Will they ever truly see the enormous expanse of anonymous ghostgraves that stretch out through the vast tide of time to the very brink of eternity?
Who cares about the lost ones now? Not Jesus or Buddha or Allah. Not presidents nor leaders nor kings nor queens. Not pompous diplomats nor paltry politicians. Not putrid self-absorbed, self-righteous pseudo-reverends who hide behind the guise of compassion.
Our names are inevitably engraved on worthless monuments. Our deeds lurk behind the shadows of posthumous medals and folded flags. Our memories are pressed into deafening silence between forgotten pages in dusty archives.
In time, our very existence vanishes with weatherworn gravestones into the haze of distant millenniums and the crumble of forgotten bones.
But I am only a soldier - no longer a name, merely a statistic.
I don't pretend to understand those things which are beyond all reason. What I was still lives in the hearts of those who loved me. My ideals, hopes, dreams, promises, and unconditional love will sustain and nourish them through dark and empty times.
I will be with you in your prayers at night and in your first thoughts at the waking light of dawn. I will be there through tears of rain, depths of emotional drought, through uncharted waters and uncertain mists, through the promise of rainbows and bountiful days. I will embrace you in the whisper of an unexpected breeze that rises on the edge of dusk.
In the crimson glow of a desert-dusted sunset, a sulphuric sphere of bloodred sun melts on the horizon, dripping with the passion of the blood that once pulsed through my veins. As the last conscious
gleam of light fades from the sky, as the first fresh stars slowly awaken, the soothing cloak of night covers me. Cool and comforting darkness quenches the final throes of suffering and pain.
The shadows are deep, the stillness isprofound. The rising moon in all her glory cannot find me now, the milky spill of her translucent light will never betray me. The sunless chill of night bores deeply into me, penetrating the gaping wounds, finding permanent residence within my slumbering soul.
I am only a soldier..........only a soldier........
Jon
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This entry has 10 comments: (Add your own)
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I hope you put this one in again next year, too!
I am very sorry for your loss of your uncle.
xoxo -
There's nothing good or noble or heroic about mass bloodshed and blind hate. Thank you for the words. I just erased a very long soliloquy about why this war upset me and how we should bring our people home. I agree with you obviously.
Jude
http://journals.aol.com/jmorancoyle/MyWay -
Jon, I am glad you chose to share this again here. It is a wonderful tribute to your dad and your uncle.
My condolences on the loss of your uncle. May he rest in peace.
I thank them for their service to our country. -
My sympathies go out for your Uncle Jack. May he rest in peace. (((HUGS)))
Always, Rose~* -
Beautifully written from the soul. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your uncle. I think the truest thing ever written was "war is hell". Maybe someday, in a far off future, mankind will learn how to love one another and honor our differences as joyous reasons to live in peace. Love, Sandi