Seven Bowls Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

One's unknown is comforting
once life's breath escapes along
that road now just hidden path,
we walked upon draped arm and arm
first turn around in country,
me and my mates chose port Vung Tau
the wind was free unlike the fees
so charged to war's dead wrong.

That our youth ran before us
in brooding silence tried to warn
US there is danger in our words meanings,
the twists and turns
truth espied by poison dwarf;
those radar eyes and listening ear
of careful speak and hands grasp
passed word to each, persevere.

Young men you'll never meet
took words to heart and action true
few escaped with life and limb,
and minds hidden to this very day
along their way they became better men
now insured a future brave
they left the past in turmoil's pact,
gave their mark in blood.

With war began fellowship,
one no different than those before
its tastes passed to men
who came to knock on that closed door
it opens to ones who quest
for meanings depth and life's accords
by simple conversation of thought
and action in a play of words.

I reach to touch the moments passed
many times and left long ago
thirst for the friendship of survival,
and the mark of brotherhood
for trust never given, a shot never taken,
lives I have forsaken
forgive a beggar begging;
as bells toll I sup from Seven Bowls.