I didn’t think that I would cry, or even That I could, but the words of mothers,
Fathers, friends and lovers penetrated deep.
Each name on that polished black granite Wall Is still connected to our lives.
The saddest messages of all were those From the children that the dead men
Never knew.
I sat there thinking about those who lied To send these young men off to face their deaths.
I thought about the politicians who are doing It again, as though they’d learned nothing,
Less than nothing, from the Wall.
Different places, Vietnam and now Iraq, But the outcomes are the same.
Some died in jungles, some in arid deserts, Some from roadside bombs.
In the end, what’s left are memories and names, And some slim hope we shall not fail
Our children yet again.
