This Old Suitcase

This old suitcase holds many memories
of a time that has long past
it surprises me to say the least
for it holds all of them true and fast

It holds the places that I have been
and congers up many faces that I have known
it holds my greatest accomplishments
as well as the things I’ve blown

It holds the stark reality of war,
It reminds me of both life and death
Of battles, blood, fire and rain
and when open it takes my breath

Though packed away in dark corners
I am reminded of Phubai and Hue
of Con Thien and of Dong Ha
Mutter Ridge, and the survival days

When opened I smell the musty nights
Hear the beat of the monsoon rains
The crack of rifles firing
Of choppers, red smoke and flames

Scarred and battered a little worse for wear
Somewhat beaten with grips hard to hold
but if you look inside you will see many things
it holds many stories that will not be told

There are times when I just put it away
Try to forget and pretend that all is fine
But it’s always there, impossible to empty
For the suitcase is my mind…