My father's war...

queerest 1 a : differing in some way from what is usual or normal : odd, strange, weird "How queer it seems," Alice said to herself, "to be going messages for a rabbit!" Lewis Carroll The endless and

My father's war..

When my father had killed a bottle of rum. He would say names of friends killed in Korea and Vietnam dirt. i would listen to every words. He told me the queerest story, ever told. With thousands of dead Chinas laying dead in front of him. He told me. Thousand dead China soldiers laid dying, crying for home and praying in front of him. As he held  his M60 machine gun. On the Korean Winter foggy night. Death met the soldiers on the battlefield and he whispered to my father. You have killed many. The gates to hell and heaven have many waiting to enter now. Thank you John for killing so many. Remember John, the dead don't seek revenge. They have accepted death with open arms and they have found a better place to be. No more wars to fight. 

Now it is your turn to did. Hell-bound, you go. My father did not die this night. Hell or heaven, did not want him. He had murdered without any guilt and he swam in the blood of the dead. My father told me in the dark taverns of Detroit. When you have no place to go and you want death. And Death won't allow you to die. You become nothing.

My father wanted the glorious death and he joined wars to test his skill of life and death. My father did live. Drink, women and the hell-bound road, he loved. in old age, he sought the quiet life and he wanted a good death. Once he believed in love, once he believed in the miracle of kindness. He had learn. We live by the gun and we will be murdered by the gun. He asked me. Son, what is the value of one life?

I looked into my father's cold black eyes and I asked him. If death don't want you and you can't fight no-more. What is left for you? He laughed at my question and he told me. We live in a world where the gun is God. Glorious war is for profit and human life. Meaningless. 40,000 people and more killed by the gun and the pro gun people want more. We are led by the Devils and the Death wouldn't allow me to die. I killed and I killed for old men in Washington D.C, 5,000 away, sleeping in their warm beds. I did not care what religion, I did care what color or race, they were. The pro-gun men in Washington D.C men sang me the blood song and I believed every word. I murdered with new rifles and the new guns with delight.

But on the blood blue moon, I can hear the screams and I can see their faces son. In the Korean war, I would dig in the dirt and my M60 machine gun and me would kill and kill. I remember me and two comrades. We shot our machine guns for eight hours. Thousand China men, create a mountain of dead. I burned out two barrels and I killed and I killed. The dead China men laid bleeding, dying and crying. Bodies on bodies and I could hear the prayers of men. I re-loaded and I killed more.

I was given medals. The Silver star and a Bronze star. I didn't understand my son. Given awards for killing. The pro-gun and the pro-war love the 11 Bang bang. We were trained to murder anything/anyone in our way. I was doing what I was taught.

We kept heaven and hell filled.

I came home and I wandered till the Vietnam got started. I was thankful for the chance to kill again. Thank you Senate and Congress for allowing me to fight again. I knew nothing else. They allowed me to fight till I got old. I left the Army and I killed in the civil life. I was a mad dog, my son.

Now the story is almost ending my son. The queerest part of this story ever written. I knew Death was always near. He befriended me and he would whisper to me. Slow down John. You killed enough.

Son, the Devils and the Liars are in Washington D.C. They love the blood song. Young men killed in war. They do know. A soldiers return home and he become forgotten. The war contractors and our leaders. Been kissed by taste of war and money. Human life, just acceptable casualties loss. 

Coyote

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.

Reviews

[D. Mansfield]

Wow, a topic that seems to occupy a significant amount of space in my writing. As a child I watched the body counts from Viet Nam on the 6 oklock news, every evening.Then became aware of all the missing older brothers. From that and my fathers expoeriences with ww2, I quickly figured out that we live in a country that harbors these thieves and murderers in Washington DC, by voting for them over and over again. Its a broken place, these states we live in, and only we can fix it. Great Poem, thank you

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you D. Mansfield for reading and the comment. No-one wins in war.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the dead don't seek revenge...but those who keep bringing us into senseless wars...they will get theirs.
this write really moved me, Coyote,
j.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Jacob. Took my father 50 years to become right. He quit drinking and he got lucky. He found a good Virginia gal.

[Chris Shaw]

My heart aches to read this. All those bodies on both sides are people not machines. Sons, husbands, brothers. What is it all about? War is futile. Your Father’s story has left a mark on me Coyote. It reminds me of ww1 where our soldiers were just cannon fodder. Decisions made by rich people in warm beds. Thank you for this post my friend. Strong to read.

Chris

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Chris. We know. No-one win in war. My wish this year. Ukraine can know peace.

[Chris Shaw]

I hope so too Coyote. Very much so.