I walk this earth in search of ghosts.
Not the translucent vagaries of too much drink or imagination;
But haunting, none the less.
The ghosts are men who disappeared while serving our country;
The ones who didn't come home.
Granted, none of us came home the same person.
But most of us made it home alive.
I see the ghosts of those brave men not yet home.
Those who were lost to us.Those who died.I see them in many places, both expected and unexpected.
Those who were captured.
Those who are still missing.
When a see Old Glory waving in the wind, I see them.
When I hear a certain song, a phrase, a name,
I see them.
When I sit at the Wall they gather 'round,
Seeking news of family, friends, things in the World.
When I walk the streets at night they walk with me.
I am never really alone.
Remembering the dreams I had back then, I mourn the loss of all the dreams they never had a chance to fulfill.
Remembering the songs we sang back then, I think of all the songs they've never heard.
Remembering my children as they were growing up, I wonder about all the children who grew up without their fathers.
There was a time when I hid from the ghosts of war.
Living in a void, trying to avoid.
Now I seek them out.
They are all around me.
Robbed of their future, they remind me of the past.
They want to be remembered and I will remember them, forever.
©1994-2019 Dennis Johnson
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