Sonnet
Even in my dreams I still can’t hear,
No pills, no drink can do the trick,
The bloody beach, the salty air,
They cloud my ears, soft and thick.
The orders were to take the hill,
But how can you think, charge ahead,
When red, wet sand holds you still,
And the other men lie cold, and dead.
Losing blood and gaining ground,
That one-armed man gave me tired hope.
With tears in his eyes, he took that mound—
He calmed my soul, he helped me cope.
I never could find out his name,
But I see his face every god-damned day.