Friday, May 13, 2005

 

HEROES

We often say sports stars are heroes. We say some actor or writer is our hero.

The heroes are the ones who sacrifice fame and fortune like Pat Tillman, to do what they believe is right.

The hardest of all things is to do the right thing. Regardless of your critics, the politics the hatefulness coming from the anti-whatevers.

The ONE thing that no one can take from us is our honor. Do what is right and everything else follows.

The freedoms we have are bought and paid for by the blood of our soldiers. There would be no free speech or freedom of the press without the ones we have buried and the ones who have buried their brothers and sons and husbands and fathers.

Life is not easy, doing what is right is also not easy.

Warriors suffer those who take liberty for granted, for we know that it is Warriors who ensure their liberty.

Whether or not you agree with war, there are and will always be an enemy. There are and will always be those who step forward to defeat the enemies of freedom.

Talking and diplomacy are wonderful ideas, but they do not always work. When the talking is over the warriors are called. Once the fighting starts it does not mean diplomacy is over, but it CANNOT stand in the way of the fighting men. They cannot be hindered, they cannot be used as political pawns. It is the duty of those who send them to fight to allow them to do their jobs. Defeat the enemy, to WIN.

We saw what politics does during Viet Nam. It made American soldiers cannon fodder. More than 58,000 were lost, a percentage of that number needlessly. Johnson and MacNemerra would not let them WIN.

TET was a loss for the North Viet Namese and the VC. Yet because of the Press it was a political victory. It was portrayed as American forces were "decimated" which means 10 percent. The NV lost 60 percent and the VC were no longer an effective offensive force.

If we would have invaded North Viet Nam the war would have been over in 6 months. We know that now from KGB documents and Viet Nam defectors and former KGB officers.

But politics were the game. So the warrior suffered.

Pat Tillman may have been killed due to friendly fire but it does not make him any less a hero. It is a hazard of all wars. It can be minimized but never eliminated. All soldiers know it is possible.

He served a tour in Iraq and was offered an early release after the year. He refused and went back in to fight in Afghanistan. He knew the risks.

He is a hero like all the others.

He was an American

Thursday, December 16, 2004

 

A Few Poems to Pass the Time

Darkness Grows
_____________
Eyes mist
Tears Flow
Gently Kissed
Sorrow Goes
Sweet Breath
Eyes Close
Comes Death
Darkness Grows
-----------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------
Confusion
________
Upside down, downside up
Twisted all around
Which way is up, which way is down?
Where exactly is the ground?
Forward, backward, in and out
Where am I headed, I don't know
Left or right or all about
If I stop spinning I will go
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Picture
______
A picture taken
Vision will awaken
For what is film to do
But catch a part of you
Developed then I see
A picture just for me
----------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------
Look
_____
If Angels do exist, and I believe they do
To see one is the proof, they just need look at you

Sunday, December 12, 2004

 

Letter

"Never tell people "how" to do things. Tell them "what" to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity." – Gen. George S. Patton

I salute you. And the majority of Americans supports you. The American Military is about the preservation and protection of freedom.

You have participated in the freeing of 50 million people, in Afghanistan and Iraq. You are part of the great might of freedom that Hitler thought we were too weak, that freedom lends itself to lack of discipline in the ranks. But your brothers-in-arms from the past proved him wrong. The "experts" said we would lose in Afghanistan, after all Russia could not win after 10 years you won in 75 days.

During the first Gulf War those experts said we would have 10,000 dead, and would take a long time. They said this time we would have a long fight in Iraq and that the Army we faced would not fall easy. It seems the experts know not of what they speak.

No Soldier, no Marine, wants war. But they also understand it is sometimes inevitable.
I see flags with a single Blue star sometimes 2 or even 3 stars, hanging in the windows of houses around the neighborhood and the city. And I have seen a single Gold star in one. As an Army veteran I fell the sadness for the family.

My Father was in the Army during Korea, My Grandfather during World War I, they both served not because they were drafted. They both joined, as did I because there was an understanding that freedom has a price. Some must be willing to give a little, like the Salvation Army kettles at Christmas time, there are people who only drop in coins then, but forget about it the rest of the year. You are not forgotten. In Ohio I cannot count the number of cars with Yellow Ribbons supporting you. They are on 9 out of 10 cars I see. And on 5 of those there are also the POW/MIA black and white ribbons, and the Stars and Stripes.

You are not forgotten in this the season of giving. You are giving. We were attacked. It brought it home to those who thought us safe, simply because we are America. They understand it is YOU who keeps them safe. I see all the time a soldier in uniform getting a handshake from people just because he is there. In stores, in fast food places, you have support.

I am proud to call myself a Veteran. I am proud of the Service of My Father, My Grandfather. And I am proud of you and your service. God bless you all.

Michael

Cincinnati, Ohio

Thursday, December 09, 2004

 

More of the Poem


Weeping Men
(Better Unknown)
----------------
Grown men now shed their tears
A child's death brings all their fears
Some have children of their own
Better this, to them unknown

Unable to Knock
---------------
Cop and Priest, the news they bring
Of this most horrendous thing
Cop now paralyzed by his fear
Brings news, no parent should ever hear

An Old Man's Tears
------------------
An old man now finds tears inside
"Why," he screams, "has this child died?"
Vengeful feelings grow within
Someone must pay for this sin


He Became; Born
---------------
Out from earth he comes once more
With wrath he'll come, not as before
Hatred in him, now he knows
With pleasure now, he'll strike his blows

He and the Word Are
-------------------
Vengeance, created long ago
Ensures men reap that which they sow
Sins for which they will atone
Pain and fear, as they have never known

And Souls Awoke
---------------
Into the night with purpose he walks
Revenge, upon the prey he stalks
So small a soul, for her, angels cried
His fury, justice shall not be denied

Condemned Be Damned
-------------------
From one so cold, an act of grace
Some would say, "'Tis out of place."
Emotion now fuels his ire
Avenge the child, his one desire

 

More pages.....

And souls awoke.



He walked out of the church and into the night, it swallowed him, he and the
night were one, kindred spirits. He saw a trail, signs no human could see,
this he followed, for it was to lead him to his prey. As he passed the small
graveyard, by the church, from out of the graves rose misty forms, on the wind
their wail was heard, these, like the night had to him, became one with him.
Some had been waiting for decades for his wrath. When these he absorbed into
him it made him stronger, they would help him and for the first time he felt
their hatred and he knew anger.

Then he felt another presence, he stopped and turned back towards the church.
When he had come out of the church, his senses were still weak, with the souls
they were coming back, he had not felt the small soul as he walked by. Sitting
on the side of the steps was a small girl holding the railing, she looked
scared. This he knew, was the little one for whom he would extract the ultimate
retribution. He walked toward her. "Mary", he said. She looked up at him, there
was not fear of him but of what had happened to her, she said, "Are you going
to take me home?" "Yes" he said. She reached for his hand and he did not offer
it, instead he raised his hand skyward.

A light appeared in the sky, it descended down to the church, it seemed to be
alive. Then before them stood an angel, an image of indescribable beauty. She
spoke to him, "Why have you called me, I cannot take her for it is her memory
which will lead you." He laid his hand upon Mary's head and then said to the
angel, "I have taken from her the memory, the pain of that moment, she does
not deserve to relive it, I will do what I must she must be allowed peace."
The angel replied, "This is not right, I thought there was something different
in you, it is emotion, you have compassion for her, this will not do." He
spoke, "Take her to Him, I will not carry her within me, for her it is over,
for the one I seek it will never be." He grinned, the angel felt for the first
time, fearful.

She reached out her hand and Mary took it, Mary looked at him for a moment
and said, "If you're an angel too, where are your wings?" He replied, "I am
not an angel, I do not have wings." Mary said, "You should be an angel, I like
you." He said, "I cannot become an angel for a long time, someday, maybe." The
angel said to Mary, "We must go now." Mary said "Goodbye." The angel said to
him, "May there be mercy." The angel spread her wings and with Mary's hand in
hers she ascended towards Heaven.

He watched them for a moment and said, "No mercy shall be allowed, Satan shall
be denied the soul I seek, is mine, forever."



Condemned be damned.


For a moment he stood, looking at the footsteps only he could see, as if he
were trying to remember something left undone. He felt the locket in his hand,
he turned and headed for the small house behind the church. He glided up the
steps to stand on the porch, the door seemed to open for him. Inside, he headed
for the sound of a heartbeat. He entered the small bedroom where Charlie was
sleeping, he took the locket and placed it upon the nightstand by the bed. He
turned to leave, before he reached the door he heard Charlie, who had not been
asleep, speak to him. "Are you the Angel of Death?" Charlie said, he answered
"No." "You are not a demon, and you are not human either." said the old man,
"I am neither, you will see that Mary's parents receive her necklace." the
figure said, "She is now with God."

Charlie had a sense he had felt this presence sometime before. The memory
of this came back to him, he had felt it around the Death Camps. When he was
involved in the detail to liberate the people from those evil of places, there
was a feeling, some of the other soldiers had mentioned it but none wanted to
go into too much detail. It was a feeling of death, but not of the death that
surrounded them, but of the feeling of an imminent death to come. It raised
the hair on the back of your neck that just wouldn't go away. Charlie felt
that way now, he spoke again to the dark figure, "You have been close to me
once before, haven't you?", the raven revenant turned slowly to face the old
man, "I have." it said. Charlie asked "Why did you not do something about
those who died, why didn't you stop it from happening, all those people, could
you have saved them?", he just stood silent.

Then he looked at Charlie, the old man could not take his eyes from the
staring eyes of this black shape, in those eyes burned white-hot fire. The
whiteness of which grew even brighter if that was possible. He spoke, from
deep inside his being, the sound reverberated off everything in the room. It
intensified with every syllable, the old man felt it through his ears and into
his very soul. "I AM VENGEANCE" and he continued more quietly, "I do not save
lives, it is not my place to interfere with the actions of man, I bring about
retribution to those who believe they are GOD." he went on, "Satan fears GOD,
when there are men who lose that fear, who no longer have respect for their
Creator, those who regard themselves above the laws of men, and indeed, above
the laws of GOD, I am the punishment which they deserve." and the room seemed
to get a lot colder, "They no longer fear the impending fate of their soul,
then tremble they will, for I will make them fear once more, they will again
know how to pray, for they will beg to die."

"They deserve no pity, none shall save them from my fury, they will die more
than a thousand deaths, they will feel the pain of all the victims through out
the short history of man. Once I become, GOD no longer will forgive them, they
are MINE". He grinned, at the thought of this, Charlie did feel sorry, not for
the one who he was after, but for mankind, sad that it had come to this. But
he wanted dead, the man who had killed Mary, as much as it appeared this
wrathful manifestation did. For the old man it was hard, how could he too,
hate as much as he did. He knew. Mary had not yet lived, not yet had dreams
of what she had wanted to do, she went about her short life just being a kid.
Someone had come along and taken her, from her parents, her friends, and from
those whom she had yet to meet, taken her for his own evil and perverted ritual.
Charlie spoke once more, "I will make sure Mary's parents get the necklace,
and I will tell them she is with GOD, but what should I tell them of you?" And
He answered, "Tell them she will be avenged, that the one who took her will
suffer the fate he deserves," he finished, "Remember what you have seen, for
now, I hunt."

With those words he left the room and disappeared out the front door and
into the night. Charlie sat there in bed for awhile, unable to move, his flesh
still cold from the encounter. He was glad though that the dark figure was not
searching for him.

Sunday, December 05, 2004

 

A Poem - Violence and Gentleness


Violence and Gentleness

Gentle rift, blowing breeze
Fallen leaf, the wind doth seize
Carried far from mother tree
Then wind ceases sets it free

Floats downward to the ground
Lands on grass without a sound
Wind plays with the leaves it sees
Blowing softly through the trees

Wind begins to blow once more
Picks the leaves up by the score
Then at mother tree it sends
Gusts that make her branches bend

Violent wind now stronger grows
She, the tree, strains wooden toes
Tightens roots to hold her there
Feels her branches start to tear

Roots are anchored far too deep
Against this attack they try to keep
Mother tree upright and tall
If wind wins out then she will fall

Onslaught continues, fatigue grows stronger
Cannot hold out, fight this battle much longer
Because of her great majesty
She will not surrender easily

With one final move, defiant
She knows wind will now be triumphant
Her leafless limbs she stretches out
If blessed with voice would surely shout

Then with a sound that booms like thunder
Mother tree is torn asunder
Crumbling down onto the earth
Roots still in place, for all their worth

Majestic tree lies broke and still
Wind dies out, it’s made its kill
Small saplings spring back, too young to break
Soon will grow, her place they’ll take

Comes the breeze, blows leaf around
Gently sets it upon the ground
Playing with the leaves it sees
Searching for more majestic trees


Michael


Saturday, December 04, 2004

 

VENGEANCE


He and the word are.
















"VENGEANCE"

Friday, December 03, 2004

 

2 more entries

An old man's tears.


The officers at the church finished up, they gave Charlie the ok. He got out
his bucket and mop and went to work on the blood. He mopped the biggest part of
the blood. The rest would take some scrubbing. He was emptying his third bucket,
when Morrisy came into the church. Morrisy said to Charlie, "I need to ask you
some questions Charlie." Charlie replied, "I know Detective, I'll answer
anything if it will help to find the guy who did this." Morrisy told the old
man, "You are not a suspect, at least not to me, but I do have to rule you
out, I know how you felt about Mary, but if there is anything, anything at
all you might remember, a sound maybe a car or a light. I need some help."
Charlie told him about his evening, about his dreams, which he still could
not recall, but which had worried him.

After a few more questions Morrisy said goodbye, he said, "I need to get
back, I have to see what the M.E. has found, if anything. I need to get hold
of the F.B.I. and see if maybe there is a serial killer with this kind of
signature. Check with some other police departments. I'll keep you informed
Charlie," and the old man said something Morrisy thought was quite strange.
He said, "If you don't find this man, this beast, God will, man needs to punish
him though. If they don't then man is lost."

Morrisy walked out of the church, got into his car and left. Charlie was
alone once more, he was down on his knees, scrubbing the blood on the floor,
and for the first time since he had found Mary's remains, he began to weep.
His tears mixed with the tears of the others. Those men cried at the horror,
at the thought of this happening to their own children. Charlie's tears were
out of love, they were also tears he had never cried, for victims from his
past, from over fifty years ago. The tears mixed with the blood, and the water
which Charlie had not used from the sink like when he had used the mop. This
water came from the bowl of Holy Water, which Charlie was using to try to
purify the floor. This liquid mixture of innocent blood, tears of anguish,
tears of love, and water purified through blessing, found it's way through a
crack in the floor. It dripped down from the underside of the floor to the
earth in the space under the church, the dirt became damp.

As Charlie scrubbed the floor, for a moment the hairs on the back of his
neck stood on end, a cold breeze blew, and a shiver went down his spine. He
paused for a second, looked around, saw nothing, and continued his cleaning.
After a few minutes he got up to get more holy water. From somewhere came the
faint sound of maniacal laughter.




He Became; Born.


In the darkened space under the church, the damp earth seemed to stir as if
something living under the surface was moving. Had there been anyone to witness
what followed, they would have thought a worm was coming through the dirt. This
worm-like tendril came out of the earth and began to extend itself upward. It
was heading towards the spot on the ceiling, which was the crack in the floor
above. The space was about four feet high, it reached that distance, it touched
the spot where the blood mixture was dripping from and began to drink. It was as
if this tendril was sort of a straw, no, a vein. After it had filled itself, an
almost inaudible heartbeat could be heard. There was a patch of dirt that rose
and fell in time with that beat. As it drank, the beat became stronger, the dirt
pushed up higher, then another vein came out of the dirt and headed for the
crack.

Above the space, on the floor the stain began to disappear, it was flowing
in the direction of the crack in the floor. It started slowly, and began to
ove ever so faster with each passing second, whatever was "drinking" seemed
to be gaining an ever increasingly voracious appetite. And then the stain was
no more. Charlie returned to finish, there was nothing left to wipe up, and
there came a sound to his ears as if the church had come to life. Charlie
thought it was just his imagination. He turned out the lights said a prayer
headed for the front door, locked up and went home.

The thing in the dirt began to take shape. The veins retracted into the dirt,
a human-like form started to appear directly under the surface, as it began to
become three dimensional, the dirt started to fall away. What dirt didn't was
absorbed into the body of the thing. The flesh was a dark gray color, and
rough like sandpaper. The muscles developed definition, like they had been
cut from steel, the veins looked like they were welded onto the surface. The
hairs that rose onto its arms were like fine stiff threads of stainless steel,
with sharp needle ends. Its head was covered in a long mane of black hair,
its jaw firmly squared, the eye sockets deepset and then it opened its eyes.
These appeared to change, from fire to mist, if looked into deeply, the future,
the past and lost souls could be seen.

It arose, pushed itself upward, the ceiling began to groan and give way, in
one motion the stone began to crack. The figure rose out from under the church,
it floated upward, moved to one side and settled on the floor. It stood
unclothed, moved its head from side to side, looking. It found what it was
looking for, it moved without walking, towards the old confessional booth,
reached up its arms and took the dark cloth curtain covering the opening. This
it folded, then set against its chest, and it was absorbed, out of its flesh
grew darker than black, boots, pants, a tunic and finally a hooded cloak. The
figure then walked towards the alter, knelt on one knee, looked towards the
stained glass window in the back of the church, on which was the image of the
Crucifixion of Christ. It closed its eyes, seemed to say a silent prayer, made
a slow and deliberate sign of the cross, then bowed its head for a moment. Then
it stood, out of the sleeves of the cloak came its hands, on the end of these
were nails like knifeblades, something dripped from the points, then it retracted
the nails closed its hands and turned towards the door.

As it walked down the aisle it stopped, reached down and picked up something
off the floor, looking closely it saw a small double-heart locket, he opened
it, inside was a picture on each side, one of a man and the other of a woman.
Then he closed it and folded his hand around it. He clenched his other hand
and spoke. The voice it had found had an eerie echo, as if coming from some
pit, like an open grave. It said only one word.

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