By "Top" Shultz

Sometimes in the cold bleakness of the night I return,
Return to those places, those times, those memories best left to die.
But, they do not die.
The haunting chill of the wounded wailing, in desperation the question looms,
Did I do enough?

A question never to be answered,
Not in this time or place;
Still, the haunting question,
Did I do enough?

The rain pours from the heaven's darkness,
It soaks me to my very soul;
Bringing memories of a time best forgotten,
Did I do enough?

They were your sons, brothers, husbands and lovers,
They were your friends, buddies, neighbors and comrades;
Did I do enough?

I had no time to ask,
There where no answers then;
They just died upon that bloody ground,
Covered in mud and slime.
Did I do enough?

No grace, no quiet time in passing,
No love did they receive;
They just cried their life away,
Did I do enough?

I'm not looking for absolution,
For forgiveness, for a pat on the back;
None can answer for me this question,
Did I do enough?

Yet, I pick apart the pieces of that time so long ago,
I hear the voices calling to this day;
And, that same old question haunts me,
Did I do enough??

There is no earthly answer,
Of this I am so sure;
I'll have to leave the answer,
To the one that is so pure.

Yet, the memories will haunt me,
Till I'm finally laid to rest;
I can only hope to now believe,
I really did my best.

The rains pour from the darkened sky,
They soak me to the bone;
Still the question controls my life,



Dear Bill,

I see the painful look in your eyes,
The haunting question unresolved;
Guilt, your constant companion,
You think you belong on The Wall.

But my heart cries you're wrong,
You did your duty well;
I know you did all you could,
Living through that hell!

When your earthly life is through,
And toward those Gates you run;
A Heavenly voice shall witness,
"Enter, Bill, job well done."

God bless,

Deanna can be reached at vvhp@intex.net

Copyright © 1992 "Top" Shultz, all rights reserved