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I was just 19 years old, and in the process of throwing myself one of those pity parties as teenagers often do when they believe that no one else in the entire world has ever had an experience as terrible as the one they are presently experiencing.
Hope to Make It Through Today
We fight in a land that's filled with sorrow.
We bag our dead; then we march away.
We do not worry about tomorrow.
We just hope to make it through today.
Back at the basecamp, I fool with the guys,
But I never learn their names too well.
Because today, though we fight together,
By tomorrow, some of us will be in hell.
I pick up a pen and I write a letter.
I write: "Dear Mom, I'm doing fine.
So please don't worry. Things couldn't be better.
Then I grab my weapon to defend the line.
Discover more of Jim Vuksic's writing on his website: http://jimvuksic.tateauthor.com/