Terry Sako
kickbox
Vietnam—Trick Bag
Jungle silence
shouts the enemies presence
I know Victor Charles squats—waiting . . . waiting
and he knows I know
Yet, down the trail I trip
step . . . listen / look . . . step
Sweat drip
A game I must play
As armchair warriors rule the day
Vietnam—Scars Unseen
In the hell-hole of my mind are their faces
And I am pulled
into their eyes . . . their eyes
Their eyes; wide with terror
begging for mercy
Yet, grasping their fate—and mine
An eternal pact
In the paddies of my mind
their screams do resound
Hands over my ears
only locks them in
I take another sip
But no amount of whiskey ever dulls the trip
The only anodyne I find
is to re-live that terrible day
And become one with their re-death
Another bond
Simulacrum
I study him
He towers over most
yet feels dwarfed in their presence
He tries to understand life
but it is a game of Scrabble, sans vowels
He is composed
but his mind tick . . . tick . . . ticks. . . .
Anger long repressed waiting for a mad minute
He has deep emotions; rivers of anguish can flow his eyes
but he can be as hard as a diamond shines
He feels alienated
observing civilization while gone underground in their midst
He simply seeks peace of mind
but cannot attain a truce
War’s end?
Not for him
It lingers in his day dreams and haunts hisnightmares
the incubus of his soul
I reach out and touch my mirror image craving aoneness
but alas, he is just . . .
Glass
Jungle silence
shouts the enemies presence
I know Victor Charles squats—waiting . . . waiting
and he knows I know
Yet, down the trail I trip
step . . . listen / look . . . step
Sweat drip
A game I must play
As armchair warriors rule the day
Vietnam—Scars Unseen
In the hell-hole of my mind are their faces
And I am pulled
into their eyes . . . their eyes
Their eyes; wide with terror
begging for mercy
Yet, grasping their fate—and mine
An eternal pact
In the paddies of my mind
their screams do resound
Hands over my ears
only locks them in
I take another sip
But no amount of whiskey ever dulls the trip
The only anodyne I find
is to re-live that terrible day
And become one with their re-death
Another bond
Simulacrum
I study him
He towers over most
yet feels dwarfed in their presence
He tries to understand life
but it is a game of Scrabble, sans vowels
He is composed
but his mind tick . . . tick . . . ticks. . . .
Anger long repressed waiting for a mad minute
He has deep emotions; rivers of anguish can flow his eyes
but he can be as hard as a diamond shines
He feels alienated
observing civilization while gone underground in their midst
He simply seeks peace of mind
but cannot attain a truce
War’s end?
Not for him
It lingers in his day dreams and haunts hisnightmares
the incubus of his soul
I reach out and touch my mirror image craving aoneness
but alas, he is just . . .
Glass
