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By Louise Diane Eisenbrandt
--Leawood, KS

Six nylon strings, sending mellow tones

to those who would listen.

Simple chords, strummed, plucked,

with or without capo, no pick.

We would gather to forget the carnage of the day:

the dangling limbs held by tattered ligaments,

compressed by blood-soaked tourniquets;

the acrid smell of burning flesh from white phosphorous;

piercing screams from the afflicted.

Familiar strains to celebrate

the quiet of the night sky lit by flares

searching for the enemy, revealing so much more.

Songs of love and loss, of sweat-drenched nights

and blood-smeared days.

With others – singing, laughing, escaping--

for there is comfort in community.

Monsoon-drenched days,

shared in the company of others, free the soul.

There is joy in voices raised in song,

fleeting relief in laughter

healing the soul and preserving our sanity.

Love of a different kind for those with uncertain futures.

All brought together by my war-scarred guitar.