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My War

A vision thrust upon us, in a world that we would barely understand. To be a part of that, for whatever it was in that time period was something to behold. A magnificent ascent from the darkness of bland life into a situation where a man could, for the first time in his life walk away from the table with an answer to that age old self-asked question, am I a coward or not?

But what from there? After flying in the heights of greatness, where does one go next, and to what end does that portent rely? A man must ask himself as he descends back down what is the manner of worthwhile in this new world, what will sustain, and for that matter improve such a man? Was this the ending a great dream that all of us shared, to wake up and turn into a corporation in the midst of all of our struggle, would we now be forced into growing up to avail to responsible vices with our foregone war behind us firmly? Where does one grasp hold of newness when all of the senses are so firmly based in the experience of actual war?

What to seek in this world as a condolence, a passing of the edge of glory from one blade to the next as the sacrifice is no longer being asked, do we retreat and feel sorrow for the passing of our glorious moment? Without our war, our means, how then will we survive, and to what purpose will we be called to next, and if nothing, in our depravity, what then shall we ascertain? These questions are ones without answers, and without a place or time left to answer them.

Darkness, black and true taking stock of all of the world around us as we discover all that which we lacked and is taken as crucial, insomuch as we must prevail in, but by doing so only dull our own minds of what is rational in violence and its ilk. I shudder to think of such consequences, such a world where one is given so much of a purpose only to have it stripped. Forget that there are people at home that wish for us all to return, did they ever think of asking us how we felt about it? Maybe they should have interviewed some of us about whether or not, after basing so much of our lives on it, that we wished only to continue. I re-enlisted in Baghdad because I felt that the war would never end and would; therefore, give me something to do with my life until it ended. This is not a question of morality, it is one of industry.

And that was a place to be in the year 2003. And those years that followed plagued us in a deadly dance of mirage after mirage, some able to cope with the trip while others simply succumbed to its madness and eventual upheaval. All of it, the pain and misery, the broken lives and shattered existence of a man and his cause, spit upon by the normal man, silently cursed by the people that shook his hand in thanks but stood half-back and leaning so that the dust of foreign soil on his hands did not truly sully their lives. They wished him nothing but pity, a fragile state, not wanting to hear the truth that he just wanted to kill, thought that it was an okay thing to do and that somehow in that effort, made him at peace with a world that few would ever really know or be a part of. That memory in time stands still and is often drifting in its stillness though the assuaged of fear placed upon the man they call a veteran.

Written By John James Patrick Gulley


About John Matar

A Philosophical Journey shares the work of John Matar as well as other poets, writers and bloggers. Topics and discussions written are proudly displayed to enlighten and inform.


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A Philosphical Journey ©copyright 2011-2012

© John Matar and 'A Philosophical Journey', 2011-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to John Matar and 'A Philosophical Journey' with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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