Real-Killas

Never Forgotten

To each and every one who has worn the uniform of our armed forces representing our great country

To each and every survivor or our fallen armed forces personnel who paid the ultimate price for our continued freedoms

Toeach and every JROTC or ROTC teacher who even now prepares our leaders for future generations of service

Thank you for the sacrifices you have given that allows the rest of us to be free. Thank you for your service

God Bless and Keep You Always

R.K.[GEN]RoAdKiLL

Peoms of Soliders

WWI

Siegfried Sassoon,

The Survivors

NO doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain

Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.

Of course they're 'longing to go out again,'--

These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.

They'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed

Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,--

Their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be proud

Of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride...

Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;

Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.

____________________

WWII

My Buddy

They say he died in glory,

What ever that may be.
If its dying in a burst of flame,
Then glory's not for me.

In the briefing room this morning,
He sat with clear eyes and strong heart,
Just one of many airman
Determined to do his part.

My buddy had the guts alright,
He sought not glory nor fame.
He knew there was a job to do,
My crew all felt the same.

But death had the final word,
In its log it wrote his name.
For my buddy died this afternoon
In glory - in a burst of flame.

(Dedicated to Mike Shanley who gave his life ditching on his 6th mission)

____________________

Vietnam War

Sergeant Major (Ret) George S. Kulas

Touching
The old man touched many names on the wall.
Each one touched him, especially his son's.
With tears in his eyes and with shaking hands
The old man touched many names. On the wall
built for heroes who had answered the call
To Vietnam and returned as the ones
The old man touched. Many names on the wall.
Each one touched him. Especially his son's!
____________________
Iraq War
PFC B. Miller
(1980-March 22, 2004)
Eulogy
It happens on a Monday, at 11:20 A.M.,
as tower guards eat sandwiches
and seagulls drift by on the Tigris River.
Prisoners tilt their heads to the west
though burlap sacks and duct tape blind them.
The sound reverberates down concertina coils
the way piano wire thrums when given slack.
And it happens like this, on a blue day of sun,
when Private Miller pulls the trigger
to take brass and fire into his mouth:
the sound lifts the birds up off the water,
a mongoose pauses under the orange trees,
and nothing can stop it now, no matter what
blur of motion surrounds him, no matter what voices
crackle over the radio in static confusion,
because if only for this moment the earth is stilled,
and Private Miller has found what low hush there is
down in the eucalyptus shade, there by the river.