By Edward J. Domaleski Jr.


Well, I've sat in the chair by the door for the past couple of days; and since I'm headed to the Wall Thursday morning, thought I would share with you what one old warrior is going to do besides hope to find a little peace of heart.

Found one of the old burlap sandbags we used in Nam--going to lay it out and place a canteen of water on it along with a pair of dry socks and two cans of crats; one is really the pound cake, the other pork slices. In the middle, I'll leave the following poem.

"Medic, Do Not Cry For Me"

Tearing my shoulder, I heard no sound,
My left arm shredded, lies on the ground,
Unbearable pain, fills my very soul,
My life is wounded, I'll never be whole,
"Medic, My God, Medic!" I scream in pain,

Life's blood flows, sandbags crimson wet,
My life's ending, but it's not over yet,
Doc's hands touch, he heals my pain,
Syringes of juice, he fills my vein,
"Medic, My God, Medic! Don't leave me now,"

His eyes seek deep, Doc sees my soul,
My eyes glazed, I know Doc is bold,
Words of comfort, words so dear,
Doc holds my hand, my words he can hear,
"Doc, I don't want to die! Doc, please, Doc,"

Others scream help, Doc hears the scream,
Doc stays with me, this is my last dream,
White light in me, I can see heaven's gate,
Doc leans closer now, Doc is my death's mate,
"Doc, it's all right; Doc, it's not so bad,"

Eyes are dimmer, I can't see Doc's face,
Doc holds tighter, blood is all over the place,
Doc is so young, but Doc's very old,
Doc remembers, this story is told,
"Doc, I've no pain; Doc...the pain is yours now."

Ed Domaleski

2nd Bn, 12th, Inf., 25th Inf. Div. ('67-'68)
AKA ED2/12INF RVN ('67-'68)
Stone Mountain, GA 30083

copyright © 1995 by Edward J. Domaleski Jr., all rights reserved

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