The smell of gun smoke mingled with the stink of death is in my nostrils and the silence of the dead is as defeating to my ears as the screams of the dying. The nightmares come and go, the memories are always there . . . I can't help but wonder sometimes if it was worth it, has anything changed, did I help to do any good at all?
There are many other veterans out there with the same thoughts, the same wounds and scars, and the majority can't talk about it; many can't deal with it . . . alcohol, drugs and suicide become their escape. My escape is God and writing, my poetic stories express the thoughts, the fears, the nightmares of the veterans, the wounds and scars we deal with daily.