My father served in the Navy during the Korean War. He was one of the lucky ones who came home after his tour. After he passed in 2009, I recall driving through the Florida National Cemetery and feeling overwhelmed by what I saw.
Through the car window I can see the
fields full of white stones
all standing at attention,
standing guard.
Solemn and vigilant, they never
waver,
nor should they.
The brave and the scared,
the strong and the weak,
they all played their part.
Some fell on blood-soaked soil
or desert sand.
Others came home changed.
They all did their part and now sleep while
their white stones stand at attention for all
to see.
And remember.
RB
My mother was an Army Nurse during the Korean War. Stationed in Japan, where they sent the boys who needed to be hospitalized. She has several pictures of herself and others during leave times in Japan. Happy and seeing the culture. Two of my uncles served in the Navy. Mom met up with them in Japan several times during their leave time. Mom and my Uncles never talked about what they were there for. What they did every day. Who they lost. How it affected them. Our parents were amazing people. So were each of the people named on those white stones. You captured it and made me think about my family and the families of those who didn’t make it back.
Thank you for sharing this, SS. Their generation saw so much, did so much, and gave so much.
Very touching tribute, Richard.
Thank you, MM. I appreciate you taking the time to read and reply.
Beautifully written and emotionally evocative!
Thank you for the kindness, Luisa.
You’re more than welcome💐
A thought provoking poem, Richard.
Thank you, my friend.
There’s something about seeing so many tombstones. I’ve seen the military ones in northern France and they’re certainly thought-provoking.
Absolutely, Sheree. I can imagine seeing all those graves from WWII is a powerful experience.
It certainly was, and tremendously sad
Yeah, I felt this one.
I have only once visited a grave, because all family lives in different countries.
It was with my dad in Bosnia, where his grandparents (who raised him) were buried. It was the first time he was able to visit it in a decade.
The one and only time I saw my dad cry.
Your poem brings me back to that moment, which was heart breaking but beautiful.
Probably my favorite poem of yours so far! 🙂
I’m so glad I could help you remember that moment, Andrea. Thank you so much for the kind words and for sharing your memory.
Love the imagery in this requiem poem, Richard.
Thanks, Pat. I’m no Walt Whitman, but I try. 🙂
Mission accomplished.
Lovely tribute.
I appreciate it, Devonne.