What Cost?

your humanity,

your life,

your soul;

what cost this freedom?

broken bodies,

broken promises,

broken lives,

broken dreams;

what price to be

a man?

life is but moments,

moments of laughter,

moments of joy,

moments of sorrow,

moments of suffering,

every minute a struggle,

every second another

missed opportunity;

in the end they fade;

I wish I could

have been better;

a better father,

a better husband,

a better brother,

a better son,

a better friend;

that somehow

I could have been

more than what

I was;

for now we say goodbye,

yet still it does

not end,

this too is just

another moment;

fading like the evening sun.

.

.

Last Call

this morning darkness does roll,

these gentle waves do wash,

melodic rhythms continue to flow,

despite the insidious rush

of left handed breaks;

who does know?

who can tell?

who will stop the tide?

inside we are all the same,

lost and afraid,

isolated and alone,

searching for a refuge,

trying to find a home;

no matter who we are,

no matter what we say,

no matter how hard

we pretend otherwise;

somehow,

someway,

somewhere;

there must be more;

wasted words once again,

lost within the echoes

of ancient memories,

lying just a touch beyond hope,

drowning on distant shores

of foreign intervention,

drifting upon forgotten

platitudes of empty fires,

blazing wildly out of control,

burning with the stench

of a thousand voices

pleading for death,

this too shall pass;

what else is left?

enlightened intelligence,

such a wasteful resource

in the hands of crazed madmen,

passionate informants full of

useless information,

inside traders

selling stolen dreams,

former raiders of excessive

corporate greed,

dancing on the backs of

down trodden masses,

sharing forbidden fruit destined

for leftover dumpsters of

recycled trash,

destroying the will,

removing the innocence;

exchanging profit for turpitude.

.

.

What We Are

into nighttime dreams

you come,

soft and warm,

young and sweet,

a gentle reminder

that once there was life,

once there was more

than met the eye,

proud and unwavering,

a warrior ready for battle,

full of strength and tomorrow;

now I can only remember,

now I can only dream;

these years pass slowly,

what pompous,

self-righteous creatures are we,

climbing slippery slopes,

passing judgment,

determining sentence,

drawing lines in the sand,

never seeing beyond all

that we know,

never knowing more

than what we are;

forever trapped,

behind bars

of flesh and blood;

words come slow,

out here in this

forgotten land,

I sleep a sleep

that is no sleep,

I live a life

that is no life,

I die a death

that is no death,

darkness fills the void,

the world goes on

despite the absence,

bubbling to the surface

in spite of the loss;

is it really just pretend?

is it really something more?

.

.

Delusion

For the secret power of lawlessness is already at work; but the one who now holds it back will continue to do so till he is taken out of the way. And then the lawless one will be revealed, whom the Lord Jesus will overthrow with the breath of his mouth and destroy by the splendor of his coming. The coming of the lawless one will be in accordance with the work of Satan displayed in all kinds of counterfeit miracles, signs and wonders, and in every sort of evil that deceives those who are perishing. They perish because they refused to love the truth and be saved. For this reason God sends them a powerful delusion so that they will believe the lie and so that all will be condemned who have not believed the truth but have delighted in wickedness.   II Thessalonians 2:7-12

Therefore in one day her plagues will overtake her; death, mourning and famine. She will be consumed by fire, for mighty is the Lord God who judges her. Revelation 18:8

the joy does end,

here in this land

of limited sun,

cold hearted and alone,

forsaken and forgotten,

the gate is closing,

the gap is narrowing,

the light is starting to

disappear,

there are things bigger

than life,

bigger than death;

bigger than dreams;

even now they mock,

twisting the truth,

creating monuments of self-glory,

worshiping idols of their own doing,

maligning anyone and everything,

laughing at the misery and suffering,

exploiting the helpless and weak,

drowning in self-proclaimed wisdom,

unable to understand truth,

incapable of anything more

than what they are,

refusing to see past themselves,

seeking life, liberty and the pursuit

of perpetual pleasure,

blinded by their superiority,

wallowing in the fantasy,

delighting in the delusion;

finding comfort in the lie.

.

.

Integrity

          Today I was thinking about an individual who I have little respect for. His identity is irrelevant, because that is not the subject I want to write about. While thinking of this person I thought about why I have such a lack of respect for him, and I came to the conclusion it’s because of integrity issues. Basically I don’t trust him. While thinking about it, I started thinking about a person I knew many years ago, who taught me a lesson about integrity that I still carry with me today.

            
          Throughout my life I have known a handful of individuals who have taught me life lessons and other truths that have shaped who and what I have become. Men who I respect, admire and try to emulate, hoping that I have become half the man who they are.  My father is one of these individuals. He taught me the value of loyalty, of hard work and many other things that I am still realizing to this day. Another is a full blooded Ogallala Sioux named Al Kitto who taught me so many things that I still consider him a second father. There are others; the Engineering Officer on my first submarine named C.J Ihrig, a Nazarene General Superintendent named James Bond, a campground owner named Maurice Dettman. Of course there have been many other individuals who I respect and admire, good men, and good women (yes, respect is not gender specific), but the person I want to talk about now was the Captain of the second submarine I served on while I was in the Navy, the USS Georgia.

            
            I went to the Georgia in January of 1982, after serving on board the USS Tunny, a fast attack submarine out of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.  At the time the Georgia was in new construction, a fleet ballistic missile, Trident submarine, being built in the Electric Boat Shipyard in Groton, Ct.  When a submarine is being built, the first crew members to man it are the ‘nukes’, the guys who went through Naval Nuclear Power Training and go to the fleet to operate the nuclear engineering spaces of submarines and nuclear powered surface vessels. Most of us were what was considered ‘Sea Returnees’, guys who had been to sea on other submarines, however there were a handful of younger guys who came straight out of Naval Nuclear Prototype training and had never been to sea. To even get to the fleet as a nuclear power operator is an impressive feat, at least it was at the time. I know when I got out of the Navy in 1989 the requirements were getting a little more relaxed. I think there were several reasons for this, but probably the most important is that by that time Admiral Hyman Rickover had stepped down as the head of the Navy’s Nuclear Power program for several years, and the standards were beginning to loosen a bit. This plus the collapse of the Soviet Union and the cessation of the cold war had lessened the demand for submarines and crews to operate them, therefore cutting the budget for training individuals. I cannot speak about the Navy’s nuclear power program today because I have been out since 1989, however to give you an example by what I mean when I say it was an impressive feat let me tell you about my Nuclear Power School Class, class 7801. We started out with about 400 individuals in our class. By the time we graduated from Nuclear Power School, after 8 months of intensive study in mathematics, physics, thermodynamics, chemistry, etc., we had about 200 people left. Then after another 4 months of qualifying on an operating nuclear reactor at one of the Navy’s Nuclear Prototype facilities, there were a little over a hundred of us left who actually made it to the fleet.

          When I reported on board the Georgia, the Commanding Officer was a man named Arland W. Kuester. He was a full bird Captain, which was unusual in the submarine fleet, as most ship captains held the rank of Commander or Lieutenant Commander. At the time the Trident Submarine was the newest and most sophisticated, expensive weapon mankind had ever produced. With a capability of deploying 24 nuclear missiles, each with eight multiple warheads, it was also the most destructive weapon ever created. I think this went into the thought process when the Navy decided to place full bird Captains as commanding officers. Later when I taught at the S8G Naval Prototype from 1985 to 1989, I would teach engineering systems at the Trident Design School for Prospective Commanding Officers of Trident Submarines, so I know what special individuals they are. Captain Kuester was also a bit older than most submarine commanders at the time, so this took some getting used to by us ‘sea returnees’. Most submarine commanders were young, aggressive, energetic individuals who worked hard, played hard and commanded the respect of the crew through leadership by example. Captain Kuester was a hard task master, he also demanded a much stricter adherence to traditional naval regulations than most of us were used to. Typically the submarine community wasn't big on regulations, like I said it was a work hard, play hard kind of attitude, and as long as the work got done, regulations weren't high on the priority list. So to get to the point, Captain Kuester wasn't  the  most popular commanding officer with many individuals on board the Georgia. He expected a lot from his crew, but he was fair, and no one worked harder or sacrificed more than he did. He was usually the first to arrive and last to leave.

            
          The first thing the crew does when it gets there, is start testing the engineering systems. When Electric Boat constructs submarines it does so in sections. They had this amazing system where they would start in the aft part of the ship and build the ship in 10 ft sections. When they would build a section, everything that went into that section, pipes, pumps, valves, etc would be put in place, then they’d bring the hull sections together and weld them up, and so on, until the entire engineering spaces were complete. So when we got there the engineering spaces were basically completed. We then began inspecting systems, filling them, testing them, etc. It was a lot of hard work and many long hours. We had gotten to the point in the ship’s life where we had tested, filled and vented and operated most of the reactor support systems and we had pumps running so we started having duty days and standing traditional 6 hour watches in the engineering spaces. The Reactor Core had not been installed at this point so there really was no danger to the public if something broke down. Basically we were babysitting. As equipment began to be placed in service, different parameters were incorporated into the logs taken by the watch stander, called the Shutdown Roving Watch who would write them down every hour on the logs. One of the systems operating was a system called Reactor Plant Fresh Water. When the reactor core is installed and the Reactor Coolant Pumps are operating this system is one of the most vital systems on the ship. It provides cooling water for the Reactor Coolant Pumps and Control Rod Drive Mechanisms and a few other pieces of vital equipment and is very, very important. However, like I said, the reactor core had not been installed yet, neither had the Reactor Coolant Pumps or the CRDMs. The only reason this system was operating was so test data could be taken on it during the normal daytime hours, when the Electric Boat engineers were around. At night there was no reason for it to run, and losing it was not a big deal. My duty section had duty, which meant we stayed on the ship for 24 hours, in a little make-shift bunk room they had constructed for us in the Missile Compartment, and tried to sleep when we weren't on watch, as the Electric Boat workers ran their chipping hammers and other noise making devices throughout the forward part of the ship. Basically, when you had duty, you were up the entire 24 hours whether you had watch or not.  This young, third class petty officer named Bob (can’t remember his last name), had the six hour watch from midnight to 6 am. One of the log readings he was supposed to take every hour, was the Reactor Plant Fresh Water System Expansion Tank Level. This is the high point of that system I talked about earlier, it’s a big tank where water can be added to the system as required, and where you can monitor the level to make sure there are no leaks or other problems with the system. To get to the place where you had to take the tank level you had to climb up a ladder, where there was a platform with the tank sight glass. Climbing the ladder could wear you out, especially when you’d been up for 24 hours and you knew there were no real consequences if the system crashed. Bob was one of those younger guys, who came to the ship right from prototype training. Around 6 am I went back to the Engine Room to help clean up and make sure everything was ready to turn over to the oncoming duty shift. As I walked past maneuvering an alarm began going off, it was the Reactor Plant Fresh Water Expansion Tank low level alarm! I and another guy who had just come aft quickly climbed the ladder to check the tank and sure enough, the level was at the low level alarm set point and dropping very slowly. Under operating conditions this would be a big deal, but because the system really wasn't doing anything, the only thing to worry about was getting the level so low that the Reactor Plant Fresh Water Pumps began to cavitate and were damaged. So after confirming with the Engineering Duty Officer (EDO), I went down and turned off the pumps.

            In Naval Nuclear Power, and civilian nuclear power for that matter, nothing is simply taken care of and forgotten about. There is always an investigation, there are always questions asked, and consequences for inappropriate behavior. So an investigation was launched as to why the tank level dropped to the low level alarm. This is an important system, and if there is a problem it had to be worked out before the reactor core could be installed. Subsequently it was discovered that there was a minor leak in one of the pipes that ran through the bilge area adjacent to the Reactor Compartment, was which wasn’t visible unless you were looking for a leak.  The Engineers did their calculations and figured that based on the leak size, the Expansion Tank would have lost about an inch an hour. So naturally the next question was how come the Shut Down Roving Watch hadn’t noticed the level dropping. They looked at Bob’s logs and guess what? According to his logs the level hadn’t dropped one inch since the guy he relieved had taken the reading. To make matters worse, or better for the guy who Bob relieved, depending on how you looked at it, the level Bob logged was almost exactly 6 inches above the low level alarm set point.  I think you can see where this is going. It was pretty obvious that Bob hadn’t climbed up that ladder to actually look at the level of the expansion tank.

            Bob was no longer allowed to stand watch or do other tasks in the engineering spaces awaiting a Captain’s Mast. A Captain’s Mast is where you throw yourself on the mercy of the Captain. You waive your right to a court martial and agree to accept whatever punishment the Captain deems appropriate. Normally a Captain’s Mast is less severe than a court martial. It is also less consequential as far as long-term legal ramifications. If you are found guilty in a court martial then it is something that stays with your record, even after you leave the military. A Captain’s Mast on the other hand is not quite so severe. You do your punishment and that’s the end of it.  We all knew Bob was going to get some kind of punishment, we figured maybe he’d have to go through some kind of re-qualification, restriction of some type. Because of the fact that there were no real consequences from his actions, most of us felt that the punishment would be minor, a slap on the wrist. The sea returnees in the group had all known people who had made mistakes in the program. Some of us were guilty ourselves of making an error or two. There have been people who have turned the wrong valves, operated the wrong switch, tripped the reactor out at power, etc. Compared to these mistakes what Bob did seemed very minor. What happened kind of shocked us. After Captain’s Mast with Captain Kuester, Bob was removed from the nuclear power program, reduced in rank to seaman, and transferred immediately off the Georgia! Like I said, most of us, including the Senior Chief Petty Officer who went into the Mast with Bob, were not prepared for such a harsh judgement. To understand the consequences of something like this you have to remember what it took for somebody like Bob to even get to the fleet as a nuclear power operator. At the time, if you made it to the fleet as a nuclear power operator, as long as you maintained a good record during your time in the Navy, you were pretty much assured of getting out and making very good money in the commercial power industry. Now, not only would Bob have to spend the rest of his time in the Navy scrubbing decks, he would also have very little chance of obtaining one of those high paying commercial power jobs. To put it mildly, the mood of the crew was very dark and somber after that.

            About a week after Bob’s Captain’s Mast I was standing watch in the Engineering Spaces. It was late, the ship yard workers had all gone home for the day, and it was basically myself and the Maneuvering Area Watch in the Engine Room. As I was walking around taking my readings, a person slowly walked up to me. When I looked up I saw that it was Captain Kuester. “Good evening, Petty Officer Rhoads” he said to me. “Good evening, Sir” I replied. After a couple minutes of small talk, he got to the subject that I think he really wanted to talk about all along. He began to talk about Bob (he didn't call him Bob, he called him Petty Officer whatever his last name was) and the results of his punishment. He asked me how the crew felt about that, and I told him that most weren't very happy about it. That most felt the punishment didn't fit the crime. He then asked me how I felt about it, and I told him I wasn't sure how to feel. Then he said something to me that has stayed with me all my life. He agreed that the consequences of what Bob had done were very minor. But, he said if a man makes a mistake then you can re-train him, or give him additional training so he doesn't make that mistake again. In fact he said, mistakes are some of the best teaching tools there are, that he would rather have somebody under his command who made mistakes and became better as a result, than someone who never made one until it really mattered. He said he hadn't based his judgement on the physical ramifications of Bob's behavior. That it was based on something much deeper than that, it was an integrity issue. Then he asked me “How do you teach somebody integrity? What kind of training can you do, what kind of remediation program can you come up with? I’m not sure integrity is something you can ever instill in a person, either they have it or they don’t.” He then added that he made his decision with the hope that someday Bob would understand the real consequences of his actions, learn from it and be a better man. Then he told me goodnight and left. I thought long and hard about what Captain Kuester had said, and came to the conclusion that he was right. That is why a person's integrity is so important.

I guess I’ll never know why Captain Kuester chose to speak one-on-one with me on this subject. I’d like to think it was because he viewed me as one of the leaders of the crew, and was hoping that through me, his message would slowly get conveyed. I think he also understood that as one of the senior people in Bob's duty section that I couldn't help but feel a bit of responsibility for what had happened to him, but I don’t know, that is only speculation. I know I never looked at the man the same after that. I would continue to serve under Captain Kuester for two more years, going through commissioning of the Georgia, and making the first patrol with the Blue Crew. During that time I came to appreciate what a hard working, dedicated man he truly was. He was, and always will remain, one of the most respected individuals I have ever known. 

Truth

Jesus looked directly at them and asked, “Then what is the meaning of that which is written:  ‘The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone’?  Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces, but he on whom it falls will be crushed”   Luke 20:17-18

truth;

from where does it come?

to where does it go?

it rattles around inside,

bouncing back and forth

like some misguided nuclear missile,

and just when you think you have the answer

you come to the stark, brutal realization;

you've only scratched the surface;

truth;

so seemingly simple,

yet so profoundly complex,

separating darkness from light,

bringing dawn to the fading night,

cutting hard and deep

with surgeon like precision and skill,

providing comfort and mercy

while dispensing perfect

judgment and justice;

truth is absolute,

truth is forever,

truth never changes,

truth never compromises,

truth is condemnation,

truth is salvation

all rolled into one;

truth is the stone

upon which everyone who falls

will be broken to pieces,

but he on whom it falls

will be crushed;

truth is Jesus Christ.

.

.

The Way of Truth

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it. “Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles? Likewise, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them.”   Matthew 7:13-20

lost in this sea of darkness,

sentenced to die

from the day we are born,

guilty as charged,

eternally separated,

forever gone;

the dreams of men

are like birds on the wind,

shifting and rearranging,

living and dying,

here today,

gone tomorrow;

there are many roads in life,

leading to far away,

unknown destinations,

creating their own specific

brand of justification,

finding their own particular

version of truth,

but no matter how many

truths we create,

no matter how many different ways

we want to believe;

there is only one truth,

there is only one way,

there is only one road;

it does not bend

to fit our ideas or desires,

it does not go in the direction

we demand it to go,

it is final,

it is absolute;

that is how truth works;

enter through the narrow gate,

for wide is the gate and broad is the road

that leads to destruction,

and many enter through it,

but small is the gate and narrow the road

that leads to life,

and only a few find it.

.

.

victory

I keep thinking

that we will have a good laugh,

and this will all

just go away,

but then I remember

that it won’t,

and I want to grab her

and run;

before it is too late

it’s hard,

when you know

that you’re playing

a dangerous game,

but helpless

to stop;

every minute,

every second;

is a tiny little

victory.

.

.

strings

in the morning,

things seem a bit

calmer,

as you become more aware

of the surroundings,

and you realize

most people

are just trying

to get by

the best that they can;

you see the school bus

pulling into the motel courtyard,

as families without homes,

try the best they can

to make a home,

and you realize

they love their children

as much as anyone else,

and they would not choose

to live like this

if they had a

choice;

I have learned

to be careful

when it comes to giving

what I have to give,

because it is never

enough,

and there’s always

something more

wanted,

always some strings

attached.

.

.

when the real shit kicks in

there’s no point

in getting upset

now,

there’s no one

to see the

theatrics,

no one to appreciate

the long faces

or winces of pain;

no one to care;

if you can’t sleep at night,

there’s no one

to be blamed,

no one to cover

all the inadequacies,

no one

to take the fall;

so why bother?

might as well just

sit here,

remembering how good it was

when there was;

and just think,

this is only

stage one;

imagine what it will be like

when the real shit

kicks in.

.

.

waiting for the cavalry

I have waited for the cavalry

all my life;

for the last second rescue,

for the happy ending,

for the miraculous miracle,

for the forever after;

it never comes;

perhaps we both reached

for things which

were never ours to touch;

now the hurt

has become greater

than the laughter.

.

.

not

the word came down

from headquarters today,

we finally got our

marching orders,

shipping out

day after tomorrow;

it is a mixed blessing;

on one hand,

the waiting and anticipation

will finally

be over,

but on the other hand,

now the war

is about to begin;

it leaves a knot

in the pit of your stomach,

it makes your mouth

turn dry,

but deep down inside

you kind of like it,

because at least now

you feel alive,

even as you wonder;

for how much longer?

she tells you

not to let the door

hit you in the ass

on the way out,

which makes you smile,

because at least now

you know there is some hope

for the future;

maybe,

just maybe,

the gods really do

smile twice

in one lifetime;

perhaps;

but more than likely

not.

.

.

boardwalk and parkplace

we all have to go through it

sooner or later,

it’s just that

I would prefer it

to be later;

but if not;

it has been a good ride,

not great,

but good enough;

of course,

there are things

that could have been

done differently;

there always is;

but in the end,

there would only

have been more questions

without answers,

which really mean nothing,

even though we always think

they do,

buy they really

don’t;

eventually,

all roads lead

to the same place;

so;

I think if

I had it to do

all over again,

I’d just skip

the detour,

and go

right to jail;

do not pass go.

.

.

you'll see

I can’t write about this,

or that,

or that,

or this or that,

or that,

in fact,

I can’t write about

anything

at all;

I’m not him;

but I can write about

how much I need

my fantasies,

like smiling at women

in the supermarket,

or making eye contact

at the mall,

how I need my

self delusions

to keep my mind

in check,

or how I need

to feed

my out of touch

ego,

before it begins

devouring

everyone and everything

in sight;

yes it is not as easy

as one might

think;

being me;

and if you think

I’m joking,

just try it

for an hour;

you’ll see.

.

.

Just Believe

Ignoring what they said, Jesus told the synagogue ruler “Don’t be afraid; Just believe.”   Mark 5:36

in the middle of the night

I awake,

gripped with fear,

overcome by the immensity,

afraid of the unknown road ahead,

thinking of all the possible dangers,

unable to control even the smallest detail,

completely inadequate and out of control,

heading on a collision course with disaster;

then I remember the places

from where I have come,

all the doors that have been opened,

all the chains which have been removed,

the love and grace that has brought me

to this place,

and I hear His soft, cool voice,

gently whispering in the

nighttime darkness;

“Don’t be afraid, just believe.”

the fear fades away,

the doubt dissolves into nothing,

the darkness turns to light,

there is only love,

there is only Him;

and that is all that matters;

in the deepest depths,

on the highest heights,

He is there,

guiding my path,

showing the way;

the Friend who stands by my side

closer than a brother,

the King who laid down His life

that I might live;

the One who I will love

forever.

.

.

bureaucrats

bureaucrats always think

they are on the side of right,

no matter how wrong or unjust

that side might be,

never seeing themselves

through the eyes of their victims,

never understanding

the rights of individuals

over the authority of the system;

despots and tyrants could not exist

without their bureaucrats,

someone to stamp the orders,

file the paperwork,

ensuring the trains run on time

to places like Auschwitz and Treblinka,

providing a well functioning

slave market to feed the

king cotton industry,

hiding the suffering and misery

behind walls of official sounding

legal jargon,

vital cogs in the machine;

mindless,

robotic;

the darkness behind

the evil;

good people

just doing their job;

pathetic

little worms.

.

.

None But You

From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him. “You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.”   John 6:66-69

there are things in this life

that no man knows,

things dark and far away

that even the night

does not reveal;

all my life

I have searched for

answers and truth,

and have found only one,

everywhere I have tasted mediocrity

as it cries out for more;

I have witnessed madness,

I have endured anonymity,

(there is a fine line between the two);

through it all,

only one light has shone,

through it all,

only one hope has remained;

Lord, You are all I have,

who else has the truth?

who else has the light?

who else has the words

of life and hope?

none but you my Lord,

none but you;

where would I go

even if I would,

where would I turn

even if I could?

none but you my Lord,

none but you.

.

.

now I know

now I know;

why junkies stick needles

in their arms,

and lie dying

in back street alleys;

now I know;

why death comes

before the body

actually dies;

now I know

what Christ felt;

now I know;

where people go

when there is

nothing left;

now I know;

just how black

the darkness of the night

can be;

now I know;

just how deep

the bottom

really is;

now I know;

and the needle,

and the powder,

and the shots of whiskey,

and death;

only make it

legitimate;

now I know;

and have lived

to tell about it.

.

.

waiting for the crossing

I have been to this

place before,

only to turn and run

back to the comfort

of that which

is known;

not this time;

somehow I have to survive,

somehow I have to find a way,

or die here in the darkness

of a forgotten land;

apologies

will never be enough;

standing at the border,

waiting for the crossing,

is the hardest thing

in life you will ever

have to do;

behind is comfort

and that which you have

always known;

ahead, nothing

but sadness and pain;

but still you go,

even though

you wish

it were not

so.

.

.

being wrong

today is the day,

it is not what was expected,

but then changes seldom are,

what you thought

was going to be easy,

turns out to be

only the beginning,

it is what comes next

that puts the ball in the pit

of your gut,

becoming so hard

it squeezes the life

right out of you;

I know I am wrong,

so very wrong,

I have been wrong

my entire life,

but I don’t know how to stop

being wrong;

I never have;

and you wonder

what now?

what will be destroyed

next?

it’s hard,

when people stop believing

in you;

particularly

when you know

they should.

Awakening

I was not sure when she left,

I was awakened by a light shaking

of my arm;

“Good morning, Mr. Alexsandar,

I am Doctor Popescu. How are you

doing today?”

“Fine, I think”

“Good, good, let’s take those bandages off

so we can get a look at your eyes.”

I felt his hands on my head as he

slowly unwound the gauze,

the light began to seep in,

slowly at first,

then overwhelmingly,

I winced,

I could see shapes and shadows

but could not make out

individual details,

“Ah, very good, very good,

the blisters are healing quite

nicely. Tell me what you are seeing.”

“I see light, mixed with dark shadows and

shapes.” I replied,

“hmmm, that is to be expected I suppose.

We need to give it a little more time

I believe. I will have the nurse put more

salve in your eyes and wrap them

back up”

“Good day Mr. Alexsandar.” he said,

as he left the room,

I could make out her shape as she

came into the room,

“Good morning Anatoly, when I left

yesterday you were sleeping like a baby.”

“The night nurse wrote that you

were out all night.”

“What did the doctor have to say?” I asked;

she chuckled, “As usual, he didn’t say much

of anything. But he did write that your eyes

are healing nicely and that I am to re-wrap them.”

“I am putting some drops in your eyes, you might feel

some slight stinging and discomfort.”

“So”, I said, “in a few days I might

get my eyesight back?”

“Perhaps”, she replied,

“Then I will be able to put a face

to your wonderful voice.” I added;

she was silent;

I decided to push the attack;

“What does your husband think of

you being around all these men?”

“My husband is dead” she replied,

“He was killed over a year ago. There are

many victims of this war”;

I felt the sadness in her voice;

“Perhaps when I am better, we can

get a cup of coffee together” I said;

there was more silence,

then she slowly spoke;

“Anatoly, you do not know

where you are do you? When your

eyes are better, you will be placed

in the recovery ward, with all the other

prisoners.”

.

.

Anatoly

The Great War

I lost a great deal in that war,

we all did,

we lost friends and

neighbors,

homes and wealth,

family members,

possessions,

we lost everything,

yet because we lived

we lost nothing,

I sometimes wonder

who the lucky

ones were;

those who perished or

those who survived.

No one could say

how it began,

like most wars it had

no beginning or end,

it simply came and

went,

like measles,

or smallpox,

or the flu,

when it was over

those who were left

simply picked up the pieces

and started over\

again;

there was very little choice

otherwise;

they said it was the war

to end all wars,

just like all the wars

before it,

no one really cared one

way or the other,

the time for caring

had long since come

and gone,

now there was simply

living or dying,

breathing or not breathing,

seeing or not seeing,

surviving or perishing;

a world of our own creation,

a nightmare of our own doing.

_____________________________________________________________

Collateral

I held her in my arms

as the life slipped out of her

small, frail body,

she couldn't have been more

than 7 or 8 I thought,

as I looked into her cold,

lifeless eyes,

staring blankly into the clouds

up above,

only moments before

the roar of the jet  had filled

the afternoon sky,

then a blinding light followed

by deafening sound;

then silence;

now this child

lay broken and torn

in my bloody arms,

I had seen her in the

neighborhood before,

always laughing,

always smiling,

beautiful;

innocent;

later the news would

say the attack was a

coordinated effort

by government forces,

dropping a laser-guided smart bomb

on a known terrorist safe-house,

killing 15 with only minor

collateral damage and loss

of life;

all-in-all a pretty good

day for the 'good guys'.

___________________________________________________________

Tukarov

Tukarov was dead,

it seemed like only yesterday

we had danced at his wedding,

now his body lay quiet,

face down in the mud,

a gaping hole where

his chest had once been,

ripped apart by a 50 caliber shell

from a sniper’s gun;

I wondered if he had felt anything

as the bullet ripped through

his flesh,

tearing out pieces of his lungs

with it,

it couldn’t have been much

I thought,

he was dead before

he even hit the ground,

perhaps it was better this

way,

only a few months earlier

he had lost Ulena

in an air strike,

after that he had never

been the same;

“we must do something,

we must fight back,

we must not die like

sheep”;

he had insisted,

convincing me to

join the ‘cause’ with him,

now I could not

remember what

the ‘cause’ was,

only that I was cold

and afraid,

as I sat with the rest

of our patrol,

listening to our commander

brief us on tomorrow’s

raid,

wondering when this

nightmare would ever end;

Tukarov was dead,

long live Tukarov.

_____________________________________________________________

Spared

Quietly we waited for the dawn attack,

silently hiding within the refuge of the

dark, lonely night,

sleep was impossible as we tried

to hang on to every minute,

every second,

knowing they would likely be

our last,

on the other side

the enemy waited also,

just as afraid,

just as unsure,

soon it would be us or them,

kill or be killed,

for most this would be the

last day on earth;

many openly wept,

remembering mothers and fathers,

sisters and wives,

brothers and children,

I saw the face of my wife

as she had looked before

the war,

before the madness,

before the chaos,

before the hatred,

sweet and serene,

I was glad she had died

early,

being spared the emptiness

of what we had now become,

the monsters we had all been

reduced to,

capable of any cruelty,

living only for death and revenge,

reflections of what had

once been human;

I was glad she had been spared.

____________________________________________________________

sunrise

there was mostly silence now,

broken only by an occasional

scream or moan,

flashes of far-off cannon fire

lit up the distant horizon,

an eerie reverence permeated

the air,

we rested slumped against

one another,

staring blankly into the early

morning sky,

only hours before it was insanity,

unimaginable horror,

a great tidal wave of madness

and fury,

everywhere,

bodies locked together in death,

covered in blood,

covered in guts,

everything a weapon,

broken guns,

bayonets,

rocks,

fists,

fingernails;

in the end it had

come down to teeth;

the sun was beginning to rise,

steam rolled off the sea

of carnage that lay

before us,

our nostrils saturated

with the stench of rotten flesh;

it was sacred,

almost holy.

___________________________________________________________

Gas

then came the gas,

silent and deadly,

just a soft whump here

or a thump there,

followed by

swiftly rolling fog,

at first we weren’t even sure

what was happening,

many started dropping

before the thought

of donning a mask could

even be thought;

it seemed like such an ironic,

and cruel twist

of fate,

to have come so far,

only to be destroyed by

such a thing

as this;

everywhere men lay choking,

gasping for breath,

their faces twisted in deadly

agony,

those who managed

to put on their masks

powerless to help,

the burning of skin

hardly noticed by the joy

of protected lungs and

internal organs

from this slow and

evil death;

I thought of Tukarov,

I thought of my wife,

I thought of innocent little girls,

lying cold and limp in my

trembling arms,

I thought;

such a waste,

such an incredible,

stupid waste;

who has won?

who has lost?

all I could do

was cry.

____________________________________________________________

Anatoly

I awoke to darkness,

my eyes were open but

they could not see,

my hands could move

but I could not raise

them up;

“help me!” I screamed,

“help me!”

I heard a door open

then close;

“so, you are awake at last”,

a female voice casually

spoke out;

“where am I?” I demanded;

“try to relax Mr. Aleksandar,

you are in a hospital,

you are safe now,

let me check your bandages”;

I felt her soft, warm hands

run lightly around the side

of my head and over my eyes;

“am I blind?” I asked,

without trying to sound afraid;

“the doctors are not sure yet” she replied,

“it’s too early to tell,

your eyes were burned

very badly by the gas,

we will not know just how much

long term damage there is

for a few more days”;

“you are luckier than most” she added,

“why can’t I move my arms?” I asked,

“the doctors wanted your arms restrained,

they knew when you awoke you would most

likely be in a state of panic,

if you promise me you will be a big boy

I will remove the straps”;

I could detect a slight trace of humor

in her voice;

“I will try” I replied;

I felt a slight tugging at my

right arm then my left,

my arms were free,

my first thought was to reach

for my face,

and as if she read my mind

she called out;

“don’t try to remove

the bandages on your face

or I will be forced

to put the straps back on!”

“what of the men who were

with me?”

there was a silence;

“there were a few” she quietly replied,

“most were in worse shape

than you, some died shortly after

they brought them here”

“I’m sorry”, she added;

“the doctors have said you could

have some hot broth if you are up to it,

would you like some Mr. Aleksandar?”

it had been so long since I had heard

a female voice,

I had almost forgotten just how

soothing it could be;

“please” I said, “call me Anatoly”

she didn’t say a word,

but I could feel the smile.

___________________________________________________________

Safe

“Good morning Mr. Alexsan….. um Anatoly” she said,

I wasn’t sure when she had entered the room,

I only knew that she was there;

finally;

I had thought of very little else

the entire night;

I imagined what she must look like,

I felt the touch of her fingers as she

checked my bandages;

it felt like electricity,

crackling and popping;

“how did you sleep?” she asked,

“I’m not sure that I did” I replied,

“well you must have slept some,

the overnight nurse wrote that

you were snoring very loudly

when she checked on you.” she chuckled,

we laughed together;

I had not laughed like that

since before the war,

with my wife,

that thought brought it

all back;

her death,

dying little girls,

Tukarov,

the brutality,

the savagery,

the gas,

the sounds of gasping,

the coughing,

the weeping,

the darkness;

“Anatoly, Anatoly,

it’s okay” she whispered,

holding me in her arms,

and for the first time,

in a very long time;

I felt safe.

.

.