The Army Poem by Alan Stroeve

When I rose my right hand and swore in, never did I fathom the journey I was about to begin. Today as I write, I am numb, to any who follow must surely be dumb.

Being taught to kill isn’t really a big deal….. After all, learning a new skill is always a big thrill.

There used to be a time where they made us sing, ‘what makes the grass grow green? Blood, Blood, Bright Red Blood! ’ Now I think it was just plain mean.

Knowing I am a killer is hard to swallow, the more I think about it, the more I feel hallow.

Being a medic is never easy to do, do you know why? Because while I am returning fire, someone gets shot and it’s my name they cry.

Yes it seems odd I was taught to kill before I could learn to heal, but when it comes down to it, isn’t that just war’s will?

Killing is not what it is cracked up to be……… If someone says they have, look into their eyes and the truth you will see.

As times pass, the list grows………more and more KIA’s I will surely know.

A. Stroeve