Sunday, June 5, 2011


This is not about any organization but a weird connection

I was a teenager speaking to my principal

A Vietnam Vet

At the time I was impressionable

gun ho for the invasions and slaying of evil doer muslim blood

He reached out to me and we never agreed

Except of our two minds that thought differently

At a young age I embraced music

Flavored in foreign worldly delights

I burned a CD of music that contained

Southeast asian 60s/70s infused acid rock

I gave this gift to my principal

I gift soon to become nothing but a gift but a prophecy delivered to me

He played it in his office and it came clear instantly

That he was no longer the head of the school that I was enrolled in

He broke out in tears

I didn't understand it fully until I became what he once was

A veteran

I wonder some nights

How foolish I was not to see what a grown mans tears can warn me of what I was about to be apart of

Now I live a life of pain trying to not forget but accept peacefully that I was once apart of something larger

Something not to be proud of but something large nonetheless

Apart of American Imperialism

Apart of something I fought for and made it clear in my mind that it was right

Recently I tried to reach out to him and I still wait for an e-mail or call for all I got was a old teacher I use to have from that very school

She told me that she'd pass the message along

I told her weather or not I would ever speak to him that to leave my forwarded message with my quoted words

"You were right!"

He was a veteran of foreign wars

Wise in his age

Sending a message louder then any bomb

To a soon to be good ol boy

In Uncle Sam's fan club.

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