By John Gulick
Were we brothers painted green and black
With sharpened steel on belts acock
And heavy from grenades and clips
Of ammo nicely packed in boxes?
Were we loyal and true to the call
That was trumpeted with drum beats, those
Orders that found us grouped and volunteers
Or some jaunt with devils and madmen?
Or were we grim and hard survivors, numb,
Cut off from feeling anything, our
Senses king and attuned to every
Change that would be a threat to living?
Itís hard to answer all these questions
Because every answer in the vast
Universe would fit particularly
For those of us who danced with death and lived.