(Poem) Vietnam the land of Rain

Make it rain, as we progress down, when times where rain is the only cheerful sound

Make it rain, make it pour, bound to heal all the souls of the sore, before they fall to the floors

Rain always to bring change, the only cure to harden all pain, please, please, make it rain

Eighteen taken from youth and put into a firing range, given a gun and made to sustain

Brought to foreign lands, told to fight for all that’s sane, it begins to rain as irony is proclaimed

Barely adults, can’t quite vote, assigned to survive, where stress will never let you go

First days land on the beach, march through jungles of rain, until you think your body is weak

This is only the start of a hurdle your people have elected you to take part

They have lives, while you are new, a blank slate, perfect to be abused, carry out violent orders extremely confused

Started with a full platoon, quickly losing most of the group, all that’s left is the youngest troops

As they march chanting: “make it rain, so we can’t fight no more”

A plan designed to waste the youth, colored, and poor. Left to die as leaders shut the doors.

Making it to Saigon, just in time for the real war, broken kids now experienced in only shock and horror

Fire fights and napalm is the norm, Agent Orange exposed to all living life forms

The sole signs of peace, is when it rains, bringing the misery to a sudden ease

No one on the ground remembers what they are fighting for, its turned to random killing with no more remorse

A lone soldier taken from his regiment, chosen by the enemy to undergo intense punishment

Just a boy barely in his twenties, about to suffer for being a pawn to his country

Tortured everyday, nails pull off, beaten body, lacerations across his face

Prays to make it rain, just to chill the sting of every ounce of pain

One day saved, never to be near the same, turned to a disturbed man, with a brain untamed

Back to the home states with all his dreams replaced with screams and his passion concealed by hate

Unable to rejoin society, lives homeless by the end of his odyssey, Rain is the only thing that calms life’s atrocities

Make it rain, as we progress down, when times where rain is the only cheerful sound

Make it rain, make it pour, bound to heal all the souls of the sore, before they fall to the floors.

A poem in thought of the Vietnam war, word count: 431

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(Poem) Vietnam the land of Rain

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