As I Hung My Head, I Cried

As Fairy Tales Go

“Long Ago and in a Far land”

My Story Began.

Fairy Tales Don’t come true,

Nightmares do.

The time was today,

The War was my country’s gift to me.

The request was simple-

Lay down my arms; do not fight,

Come home and suffer loss of identity.

The cool winds of October

Changed to the heat of hostilities.

Delta Company, Third of the Eighth was I,

A member of the Proud Fourth.

Where was my pride

That I should hide

And ambush men

As they go by?

It was for country we were told

We were to fight so bold.

But also to use a hesitating hand

For we were not to capture the land.

It was for country

The world it was called,

But a sad drum was slow to beat

That sent us to die

In the damp and the heat.

I would not die

Though I thought it near.

This was not my cause,

My God was always near.

From the sky the Chaplain called,

To tell us of our Holy Deeds.

To suffer indignity-to be spit upon

Was this Land’s reply.

As days went on,

We, the Old timers became.

New men arrived,

We ask of the same

What is the world like-Why do they march?

No answer came.

All states, all lands, all races

We were bound,

Not by loyalty to seek the Holy Grail;

There was no just cause there,

But to keep the men of the Eighth

Alive and not to fail

In our mission-return from where we came.

Mountains were climbed

In this Far Alien world.

From the heights, I could see the enemy

And he me.

I hated him not when I arrived,

A month there the barbarian I became.

Was life so worthless; I tried to recall.

I had to pause and pull the trigger,

Another man Falls

To my right and in front of me.

Did I not also die,

But it was to the land of dreams.

The world from which I came,

It was a dream,

I came to realize only a fantasy-

Of Peace on Earth

Good Will to men.

The Senators, the Congressman

Would not listen when

The people cried.

Who were they to know

That one man died.

In his death I was to see

The loss of all humanity.

Folly, that word in which thought was lost

Was the hope we thought we had.

Part of the Ninth did come home-

We fought on.

My vote was but a mockery.

A war stopped

As we gave Thanks

And momentarily forgot

The bondage we were in.

The sky was filled with metal birds

Of food, of ink for body

Was this brought.

The bells rang out

Where was the Peace of which they sing?

As I lay confined in that bed

How could I wish another man dead.

A finer gift no man could bring

Was mine when I heard the voice

Of one who regretted my choice.

The bullets, the death, the boredom;

There appeared to be no room

Nowhere to go-No refuge to seek.

Another man dies all too soon.

Death often comes quickly

But for the men of The Eighth

It came slowly that day.

One by one each man’s turn came,

Then mine but it was not complete.

There was no defeat

In quitting the shame of this War

That my countrymen would not admit.

The year was complete

I returned to the last real mountain that I knew.

To now forget

Would be my reward.

Vengeance came from their lips

But why at me?

Was I not the one they sought to save

But now they bury.

They burned my Flag,

Convicted me a murderer.

New enemies I found

And all over it began.

The winds blew cold that first year home.

These would not extinguish the flames

Of all men I came to symbolize

In Steve and Wayne.

It is only my sword I fear

That lies for now broken.

Young man, before you Speak, Before you bear

The Hatred;

Thank before you touch that sword.

It does not rust because of the blood

That covers it.

Leave it alone,

Let the rain wash the blood from its tip and edge.

“And what was that about nightmares” you said.

Written by Byron E. Adams, November, 1977. Company D, Third of the Eighth Infantry, South Vietnam, October 1968 to October 1969.