A Story by Coyote Poetry
(A sad poem. We need more friends. More kindness.)
Young black man.
22 year old.
He sat alone and ate alone in the mess hall for many days.
I watched him and wondered why?
I knew great pain and understood his face and eyes.
I started to sit with him.
He said nothing for many meals.
Other Soldiers said he was crazy.
One morning at breakfast.
He looks at my eyes direct.
He told me.
“Some of the poor men were still alive at Death valley. They were still breathing.
Pieces of bodies speaking in a foreign language. I held so many of them. All I could do is listen.”
His eyes filled with tears. He asked me.
“Was there any purpose for this war?”
I looks at his sad eyes. I told him.
“You did all you could. Mercy of someone hearing…
View original post 394 more words