By David L. Bruman

Don't get close to me
For you may see
That after many years gone by
Deep inside I still cry.

A dead body on wood stakes
Was just one of my mistakes.
A torso with a talking head
Is what I call the living dead.

An enemy shell knocked me off my feet.
Left me lying dead in the street.
No one stayed around very long.
Who is going to sing that heros' song.

To jail is where I went
For time that I never spent.
A P.O.W. in L.B.J.
A soldier gone astray.

Heroin addict, Yes, indeed.
Solitary confinement is what you need.
Hard labor is a drag.
Where is that red sandbag?

Darkness all around.
Grab my gun and hit the ground.
Clearing gives way to a mine preset.
Hell for all my fears is what I get.

Dead bodies in a row
Gave my mind a heavy blow.
Even now after all those years
The thought still brings fears.

Strapped to a stretcher, made me boil
As I waited to touch American soil.
Custom agent did his part
As he stole my Purple Heart.

Cheers, I hear none.
Could I be the Only one
Who to war they deploy
Not a man but a boy?

A heavy hand grips my chest.
Will it ever let me rest?
Take a look inside my head.
You'll see I'm already dead .

Don't get close to me
For this is what's to be.
That time will go, by and by
And I, too, will surely die.

copyright 1995 by David L. Bruman, all rights reserved