THE DRAGON

                      By Bill Hagee - 1978

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Rain falls lightly leaving prisms on the glass,
The woods are quiet, for it knows winter comes at last;
Smoke curls from the chimney held low by the falling rain,
Like a child I scribble faces upon the clouded panes;
A smile jerks at my lips but fails to change the stern
Expression that has not left, since I left Vietnam.

The rain brings back the dragon that attacks my mind at will,
It brings with it the horrors of the war and of the men I've killed;
It brings with it the battles in the mud and heat and filth,
It brings back the missions of reconnaissance and stealth;
It brings back the fears and pain that we all live with,
And it brings back the tears for those who did not live.

The dragon is a hungry beast and devours all we know,
And then, at will, he lets us see what on this world bestowed;
How he can cause us to fear and scream at shadows dark,
Cry for help or scream for death, but the dragon fans the spark;
A blackness enters us, joins with our very soul,
Then like a mighty Mammoth shot, our minds and bodies fold.

Images flash across our minds, of paddies, hills, and death,
Of looking into the eyes of a friend as he draws his last breath;
The good times gone, reality rare, a cocoon envelops me,
I draw more faces on the pane and giggle with insane glee;
A hand softly touches my shoulder and turns me from the pane,
The doctor slowly walks me from the window, and the rain.

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Copyright © By Bill Hagee 1978, All Rights Reserved

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