I was in three fires. One nearly took me out. But the greatest fall I took was only 10 feet tall. It took my life away, or so I thought. I lay in the hospital for months without solid food, never moving and sometimes barely alive. I had no fear. Soldiers surrounded me. And to those soldiers, I’d give my life as well. They did the same for me.
Fire is my worst enemy. I was but a year and six when at first it did appear. It licked upon the doorway, flames, great flames, my first fear; and I was but a year.
A soldier burst through the door in flames, smothering my flaming mat, and threw me through a window that disappeared; and, all I could see was black. I could not began to face my fear. Twice a dear, twice a lady; an officer threw me away. Why did she ever leave me that precious day. I saw her fade away. She could not touch me ever, or, would she never know my love for her. Mother! It was, She.
Did our paths go separate ways? Was it different in her day? I said, “Mother, twice for me you gave your life; however, I was young to understand. You left me your name. You taught me your pain; but, my love for you will not be in vain.”
She said, “You’ll never live, never, to amount to anything. You will always be me. I bore you. From where I stand, you are mine.”
I said, “Mother, I am a man. Nobody owns me. I faced the fire! I will be there again! Again!” And then, I turned to walk away. I opened up the door, never to return. And something grabbed up from behind. It was I who was afraid of her. I reached quickly for the door, the handle. The force that reached for me no more. I left her lying on the floor.
And faced the wrath of God before. We leveled off, now eye to eye, just he and I. He hit me with his fist. I took it square, and begged for more. And then he lost his ground. My hardened hands and forearms fought a fallen angel.
I thought on Mother’s words. To her I said that together we shared the same prism; that, she was no different, but that we looked through different sides. She was a saint. I was searching for a queen.
Between my legs, eight and eighty horses; I was riding on a cloud of air, not even knowing where I rode, heading into the Inferno. But it was cold and wet and I needed a place to rest. I parked beside the mount, Aghiacohok! It was there I met, She. Her eyes of blue, reflecting of the sky, and her hair shown crimson in the sun. She, allured me. It was I who wished to be with her. She would not hear me.
Into the spring we were so different. I dreamed, starving for her embrace. Into the black on night, I climbed. The moon was bright. It was cold that night. I shivered, perhaps some fright. Into the night!
There comes a time in every life, a turn, a stone, some ice. It is easy to slip upon a corner.
And then a mark. From half way up and half way down, I fought with fear, my greatest foe. Should I turn and run? Surely I would die. On my knees I fell and it was very cold, the snow against my face and hands. It was cold and I was wet. Surely, I would die. I reached into my pack, took on a warm sweater, pulled wool socks over my boots and continued climbing, the Inferno. Again I felt the flames of youth. I clasped my hands and prayed; and then decided, should I die today, it will be face to fear. I continued climbing.
Suddenly there was a light before me. There was only one way to go. I could holler or scream. No one would hear. I couldn’t even pinch myself, so numbed. I struggled from within to find a voice, to holler. She, was watching over me. A door was opening. Two giant hands grabbed me and took me in. It was a soldier!
He stripped me of my cloths, by the fireplace, he placed them to dry. He wrapped me in a blanket and tucked me into bed. To my lips he pressed wine that I sipped eagerly. That was all I could remember from slumber so deep, the altitude went to my head. When it came my turn to serve, I told him before we slept, he gave me his only bed; for he could sleep upon the floor, that someday for him I would die.
The next day, he was gone. Somehow, he’d vanished in the night. All that lay near my bedside was the near empty bottle that I pressed against my lips before my climb of the Inferno. Sometime after dawn, I crested that top surface, to face the coldest wind. Then, the sun appeared, and I could feel it against my face. I dreaded sweat, my mortal enemy. What did I fear but fear? For now and here! We survived another day.
Pain! Morphene, Demerol, shoot me up, or shoot me! While I lay, forever staring up, with my ceiling only view, an angel did appear. I was rising by love’s hunger. She, stayed by my side, when nobody was there for me, nor, could they care, nor, should I care. She clasped my hand in hers and to my finger slipped a ring of gold. I said I’d never leave her. Good soldiers choose their words. I would give my life for hers.
Onto Chicago’s gangs, I lead the greatest. They sold guns and drugs across the street. Then I fought them for my turf. One by one. They fell. But I could not win this one, only change it for my children to come. We planted flowers on the street. Today is their bouquet. From home to home we rallied, to put an end to war. It was time!
Will the war ever end? Will people love? That, we have to see. One day, some day in forever, in or without time, there will be silence. But will they listen? How many soldiers have to die before we learn to look within ourselves, to ask the reason why? Nations that dictate are consumed, while others form, until democracy is born. Will we ever learn to look within to feel very thin fragility of honesty. The most innocent decry. Where are the soldiers now? The real soldiers stand, only with their hands, they march, never to run from the slaughter; to end their lives. Why, just like so often.
Time is different. It leapt before us and we are old beyond our minds; that have born into maturity – little did we understand – we learned about infinity. Now we are too old, and wish for sleep, but there are miles in front, as soldiers march onward and to their demise. What do we ever learn? Cannot all people live in harmony? Is there just right and wrong? If so, then, war is evil. Killing is against the laws of life. Harmony belongs to those who choose to be as one, together.
Life’s cycle. A veteran ninety-five, his car was broken. He called his son who flatly said to take a twenty mile hike. He was thirsty. I handed him some water and offered him a ride, a veteran hero – a tail gunner shot from the sky in, Germany. The scars on his arms were clearly visible. That pain, I understand, we shared.
He told me his story while I drove. I had to wonder, what son would tell a soldier, to hike in ninety five, at ninety-five. For that I cannot understand, when soldiers come home, should they be abandoned – left alone. He gave his life for me. The only time spent in Italy was as a prisoner of war. Yet, he did not remorse. He gave his life, for America, a dream and hope for equality. The circle came around, that day I gave my life for him.
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