In the gardens between Washington ‘n Lincoln bends The Wall,
A black fracture in the ground of America’s monumental mall.
Over 58,000 witnesses testify as responders to oppression’s call.
Listen to their voices, grip and guard their essence, lest we fall.
Thrown into conflict with allies to stem tyranny’s tide,
Onto beaches, fields, jungles, and mountains to abide
A treaty and carry out a marked mission for freedom’s side,
Peacekeepers sent for a people’s hope of quelling the genocide.
There were jets, choppers, gunboats, ordnance and firefights,
Homeland folks marching in opposition, exercising their rights.
The ugly messy confounding defense of liberty, a patriot’s plight,
But The Wall unites divisions and stands surreally in its own light.
These Vietnam vets are duty, courage and honor on display.
Chiseled in polished granite, every name is there to stay.
Motley, rugged and real, they were molded from refined clay,
Yet cut down by history’s endless cycle of ambition’s way.
Visitors touch a name, reflect, and weep in a still pause,
Memories of the brave beloved well up with silent applause.
They see peace from what were bullets and blood-soaked gauze,
Wondering about the eternal plan, pondering the human cause.
The Vietnam warriors of The Wall do not rest alone.
They nobly enshrine this hallowed national tombstone
That gives pride and purpose to their every dry bone,
And seeks to heal the wounds of a weary war zone.
We need not ask of these valiant souls, “What’s in a name?”
For when called, each one picked up a flag and faced the flame.
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