For All the Days I've Lived

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

Each day I live reflects the day just gone and reveals the days to come. Each day unveils promises to long for, and melancholy memories of lives no longer shared. The passage of time from one to another, littered with the heartache of mourning and sometimes torment

For All The Days I’ve Lived

By Al Garcia

Each day I live reflects the day just gone and reveals the days to come.  Each day unveils promises to long for, and melancholy memories of lives no longer shared.  The passage of time from one to another, littered with the heartache of mourning and sometimes torment.  The sun in the morning revealing the certainty of the aches and pains of living, and the moon in the evening concealing the tears and fears of having lived another day. 

For all the days I’ve lived, and for all the ended lives obscured and buried by the passage of time beneath cold marble headstones in fields of quiet solitude, no words or stone monuments can erase the insanity of war or justify the righteousness of the depravity of man.  I walked the tranquil roads and fields, and soared through the blue cloud-filled skies of Vietnam.  I saw the splendor of the flowing Mekong, and gazed at the majestic mountains towering toward the sky.  I saw children playing and women swaying as they walked with loads of bamboo reeds upon their heads.  These were the deceptive and fallacious images I saw each day.  It was this appearance of tranquility that was the cruelest weapon of the war.  For the landscape and the people were alluring and appealing, even tempting to the sensibilities of inexperienced boys and men.  For all the days I’ve lived, the thought that such beauty could conceal the killing fields that laid beneath, haunts my dreams and memories of friends who were deceived and did not return with me. 

I am consumed by images in my mind of faces and places that remind me of days that never seemed to end and nights that flashed by in the wink of an eye.  I can still feel and smell the essence of war.  War exudes a scent and vulgarity that only man can produce, and that only those who have walked through the valley of death can understand and comprehend.  For all the days I’ve lived there has never been a day without a flash or thought or glimpse within my mind of some moment or some occurrence of my incursion into the bowels of the man-made hell called war.  Worst yet is the unrelenting thought that I am here and my friends are not.

But the saddest part of all is growing old and realizing that I will have these thoughts and memories for all the days I live. 

And after all of this, I now see protests in our streets, as the disillusionment of generations past begins to boil in the very melting pot that promised hope.  Rage and fury, hate and passion, never ceasing, never ending.  And for all the days I’ve lived, the serenity and the peace long sought, nothing more than echoes of distant dreams, and nothing more.


Submitted: May 24, 2021

© Copyright 2021 A.Garcia. All rights reserved.

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