The Force Of His Words Poem by Lynn W. Petty

South Pacific,1944

The skeletal fingers of dawn folded back the
cover of darkness revealing the machinery of war.
Battlewagons, Destroyers, Troop-transports,
Supply and Hospital ships blackened the lagoon.
Sixteen inch gun shells split the sky, with the sound
of tearing canvas, as projectiles passed overhead.
As if in agony the earth writhed and collapsed
as the explosives ripped into the sub-strata,
exposing its connective tissue.
In desolation, the island lay scourged as the sea soothed
its torment by filling its wounds with water and sand
through the action of the healing waves.
Landing craft hugged the sides of the ship as the 81st Army
Division disembarked. Clinging to the bulkhead nets, they
climbed cautiously down into the open maw of the small
craft beneath them.
As a young lieutenant swung his legs over the side,
I heard him say:

'I hope the war lasts one more year.
By then, I'll have paid off my farm.'

Men were falling from enemy fire as the first wave of boats
emptied their human cargo.
We picked up the wounded.
The lieutenant had a large hole in his chest,
he had been shot from behind.
His words, like bullets fired, could not be recalled.
His GI insurance paid off the farm
he would never see again.