Mortar fire explodes in my mind;
Napalm blisters my senses.
A time machine within hurls me
back to another place, a foreign land.
 
Anguished screams from the maimed
and dying permeate my very being.
Senseless death and destruction.
WHY?
 
You said it was not war.
I think you called it, “Conflict,”
marching,
as you burned “Old Glory” to the ground.
 
Reality remains unchanged.
What was not called war
is now and evermore…
abiding inside of me.

Author's Note: Ronald Nash is a member of the Therapeutic Writers Group, Cincinnati VA Medical Center.