No Peace, Only Pieces
Or
Better Run Through the Jungle,
'Cuz' Ain't No Fortunate One
(for Richard)
The war ended, they told me.
As if wars ever end.
As if the jungle does not cling like a second skin,
its vines still curled around my throat,
whispering names I cannot forget.
I see their faces in puddles of rain,
shattered by the weight of my boots.
The mud remembers, even if the world does not.
Each step sinks me deeper,
back into the gunfire, back into the fire,
back into the body I left behind.
They call us veterans.
The politicians declare peace, shake hands,
sign papers, wear flags on their lapels,
but they never wore the blood,
never felt a friend’s breath stop in their hands.
A name becomes nothing but dust and echoes.
They tell the young ones stories of glory.
They do not tell them how war
climbs into your bones and stays there.
How it carves your friend’s screams into your skull.
How it not only robs you of your youth--
but steals your future, stitching itself into your pulse--
an endless ticking bomb within that
imprisons
—torturing you mercilessly each second of every day.
I see young men now
talking of honor, of duty,
as if war is a movie, a video game, a medal, a parade.
I want to tell them:
Your enemies are not the men across the line,
but are the voices that sent you there,
those hypocrites who will forget you when you return broken,
nameless,
less than whole.
The bullet does not know your name.
The jungle does not care for your mother’s tears.
How baffling to me are those “fortunate ones”
that simply declare peace.
I search incessantly for peace.
I find only pieces of my
shattered youth,
shattered mind,
shattered body,
shattered soul,
shattered heart,
shattered …
and scattered across time like shell casings.
One cannot piece/peace together what has been turned to dust.
Night is now the enemy.
Silence is an ambush.
Sleep brings no peace.
Each dream is a firefight re-enacted in an endless loop--
with no escape.
And no matter how far I run,
I will never outrun the jungle..
by Contributing Poet Lori Kallander Camerer Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Or
Better Run Through the Jungle,
'Cuz' Ain't No Fortunate One
(for Richard)
The war ended, they told me.
As if wars ever end.
As if the jungle does not cling like a second skin,
its vines still curled around my throat,
whispering names I cannot forget.
I see their faces in puddles of rain,
shattered by the weight of my boots.
The mud remembers, even if the world does not.
Each step sinks me deeper,
back into the gunfire, back into the fire,
back into the body I left behind.
They call us veterans.
The politicians declare peace, shake hands,
sign papers, wear flags on their lapels,
but they never wore the blood,
never felt a friend’s breath stop in their hands.
A name becomes nothing but dust and echoes.
They tell the young ones stories of glory.
They do not tell them how war
climbs into your bones and stays there.
How it carves your friend’s screams into your skull.
How it not only robs you of your youth--
but steals your future, stitching itself into your pulse--
an endless ticking bomb within that
imprisons
—torturing you mercilessly each second of every day.
I see young men now
talking of honor, of duty,
as if war is a movie, a video game, a medal, a parade.
I want to tell them:
Your enemies are not the men across the line,
but are the voices that sent you there,
those hypocrites who will forget you when you return broken,
nameless,
less than whole.
The bullet does not know your name.
The jungle does not care for your mother’s tears.
How baffling to me are those “fortunate ones”
that simply declare peace.
I search incessantly for peace.
I find only pieces of my
shattered youth,
shattered mind,
shattered body,
shattered soul,
shattered heart,
shattered …
and scattered across time like shell casings.
One cannot piece/peace together what has been turned to dust.
Night is now the enemy.
Silence is an ambush.
Sleep brings no peace.
Each dream is a firefight re-enacted in an endless loop--
with no escape.
And no matter how far I run,
I will never outrun the jungle..
by Contributing Poet Lori Kallander Camerer Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Bio: Lori Kallander Camerer is a poet & the former wife of Richard Camerer, a disabled Army veteran
who was an Airborne Army Ranger & squad leader, wounded twice in Vietnam.
She wrote the poem over many years & wars - Vietnam, Gulf Wars, Afghanistan & finished it
on Veteran’s Day at 11:00 a.m. on 11/11/2025.
who was an Airborne Army Ranger & squad leader, wounded twice in Vietnam.
She wrote the poem over many years & wars - Vietnam, Gulf Wars, Afghanistan & finished it
on Veteran’s Day at 11:00 a.m. on 11/11/2025.
Except where otherwise attributed, all pages & content herein
Copyright © 2014 - 2025 Paul Hellweg VietnamWarPoetry.com All rights reserved
Westerly, Rhode Island, USA