My Eyes Screamed, STOP

By Mushroom Montoya

My eyes screamed STOP!

As I stood my battle station watch

Aboard my ship on the Viet Nam gunline,

Bearing guilt-riddled witness

To teenage bodies we're blasting apart.

 

God have mercy on our souls!

 

Our five-inch gun turning mothers,

 And the few surviving fathers

Into forever grievers.

The Vietnamese farmers and fishermen

Are God's children Too

 

God have mercy on our souls.

 

I cry for those mothers and fathers

And can't help but wonder

Is my dead son the price I pay

Because "Thou shalt not kill"

I felt duty-bound to disobey?

 

God have mercy on our souls.

Even though more than 50 years have passed

A maleficent thought continues to slash

My sense of time and where I am,

Sending me back to Viet Nam.

 

God have mercy on our souls.

I have learned that war is hate,

And I will no longer take the bait

Into believing that anyone is less

Than God's child too.

 

But I am haunted by those teenage boys

Who should have been playing with their toys

But instead, I witnessed them being blown apart,

And forevermore breaking their parent's hearts.

 

God have mercy on our souls.