As I Lay Dying
As I lay here dying in the field, my vision faintly focused
on a blade of the greenest grass I will ever remember.
No more sounds reach my ears. Not the roar of the choppers,
not the blasts of the grenades, not the bullets whizzing overhead,
not the screams.
As I lay here dying, I now regret the day my letter came.
In school with the guys we always talked about fighting the
Vietcong bare-fisted. We wanted to stick it to 'em.
I came home, and there it sat on the kitchen table. My
parents were so proud, all smiles. I couldn't say no.
At home it seemed the right thing to do. Defend our country
like the patriotic men before us had.
As I lay here dying, I curse my stupidity.
My youth now wasted on a cause I am sure I never believed in.
So many other young men made this same mistake, and most of them will die before they realized it.
Never to grow up, to find love, to get married, to be fathers, to grow old.
As I lay here dying I let these thoughts vacate my mind.
A small orange butterfly has landed on that blade of grass.
It sits, slowly opening and closing its wings. The little butterfly
seemed so innocent, oblivious to the fire, death and war around it.
I felt myself smile. The butterfly took off towards the sky
flapping its wings. I used my last strength to roll onto my back,
allowing my gaze to follow it up past the war and bloodshed,
till I saw it against the blue sky.
There I laid dead, forever watching that innocent butterfly,
a smile on my face.