Poem: Who KNOWS War?

The winds of war stir up remembrances of encounters on the edge of war...
Poem: Who KNOWS War

The winds of war stir up remembrances of encounters on the edge of war...

I have not KNOWN war; I have only known war.

I have not KNOWN the blaze of live machine gun fire pounding, screeching, whizzing overhead with mortar shells, the random blasts of crazed fun house terror. No time for the fireworks flaring, gazing in the blackest night above when you''re eating dirt, crawling on all fours, cradling your baby M-16, mind numb save for the point 100 yards ahead that must be reached. But I have known it.

I have not KNOWN the fear of being smoke bombed and tear gassed in troop formation. Blinding smoky clouds, not knowing where the men in front, behind and to the sides have disappeared in a choking shroud of muffled coughs and cries and teary eyed. Paralysis, for an instant, before madly reaching for the protective mask. ("And remember, soldier, it''s not a gas mask!") But I have known it.

I have not KNOWN the haunting, screaming, cold sweat post-traumatic nightmares of an Air Force Pilot so enraged and deadened by endless sorties of secret killing in the Vietnam jungle. Yet, inflicting terror and drugs is all he knows to stay alive. And still, ten years later, every night, he''s condemned to replay the battle scene. I have not KNOWN this, but a client has.

I have not KNOWN the heroic highs and lifeless lows of the desperate fight to halt the surprise tank invasion of a Mid East enemy. Outnumbered ten to one. Somehow repulsing, somehow surviving despite the loss of most of your buddies in their finest hour. Nor the unspoken guilt for having done so. And this communal guilt only topped by the personal shame of the crash of a jeep you were driving while bleary eyed and bloodied: you survive and two mates die. I have not KNOWN this, but a client has.

Nor have I KNOWN the silent, anxious, weepy wait of a wandering wondering mother each day and night if "The Knock" will come. The knock at the dreaded door. The dreaded door no longer a protection against "The Visit"; against the lonely visitor declaring the end of a son''s patriotic duty. I have not KNOWN this, but a friend has.

Nor have I KNOWN my childhood friend, a Hollywood handsome, athletic Adonis, back from Nam, a bloated shadow speaking gibberish until, tiring of his own impostor self on the streets of Flushing, his winning, flashing smile and innocent boyish spirit frolicking in a Killing Field. Not able to comprehend the division within; nor stand it...So jumps to his death to end the madness. But, this alas, I have known.

War is hell for all who KNOW it and it''s damn stressful for those who just know it.

Mark Gorkin, LICSW, "The Stress Doc" TM, an international speaker and syndicated writer, is America Online''s "Online Psychohumorist" TM (Keyword Stress Doc or www.stressdoc.com ) For more info, email stressdoc[at]aol.com   or call 202-232-8662.

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