And the looks in the eyes of our damnable brothers reflect what we feel - with the soul of a stranger. Crying to live, not to be taken. Until through the haze of our hellish torn earth we are helped by each other to deserving rebirth. But the noise and the taste, the smell and the feel linger on wantonly. For more poetry and stories from Australian Vietnam Veteran, Anthony W. Pahl, go to his web site at Bushrangers's Revetment Return to menu All material contained on this web site is copyright protected.
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