That Winter of 1945.

The wind howled that winter of 1945,

As did my mind.

Forty years later I can still remember,

That nauseating smell that haunted my December.

Shots rang never-ending around us,

Fifteen by fifteen fell the soldiers of rust.

The general says I’ve ended my plight,

But I can’t stop the fight or flight that plagues my helpless nights.

It haunts me, daunting as flashbacks of flak cannons shooting down my brothers’ dawn on me.

I hope one day someone will find a lesson.

Some child oppressed, hopeful as he remembers our sacrifice to his best interest.

I burned many things. My pride, my uniform and my memories.

They decimated that, laid it to rest.

But it will not all go to waste. One day someone else won’t have to taste hate.