In the Darkness of Night

My father fought in World War II. He was seriously injured during a major battle in the South Pacific. A grenade landed in his foxhole killing his best friend and filling him with shrapnel. He very rarely spoke of his wartime experience, but in the evenings, when we would be sitting quietly you could feel the burden was still with him. During the night he would often have the same nightmare, you could hear him fighting that battle, always waking up with the grenade landing in the foxhole. Growing up I heard that nightmare hundreds of times.

I wrote this poem thinking about him, Leslie Allen Lance, Private First Class, 1st Marine Division, awarded the Purple Heart for injuries sustained during the Battle of Okinawa.

Old solider alone but not by himself.

Peacefully sitting, but never at peace.

Inside his own house, but never at home.

Only his own eyes betraying his thoughts.

The past is present, the present the past.

The unseen burden extracting it toll.

He knows that the cold night will soon draw near.

In the dark hours he cannot control,

His dreams will reveal what he will not say.

A hundred times he has woken the house.

A hundred times the battle has been fought.

A hundred times more the morning has dawned.

A hundred times he will bury his thoughts.

The old solider with his family around,

He is welcomed home, but always alone.