On May 3, 2004 I visited the Wall with Tina and 45 other veterans. What I saw them
experience was unbelievable. It’s taken almost two years for it to crystallize into this:
Reflections on a Wall
A long, low wall – black as death and shiny as glass –
Has stolen my soul; I dare not pass.
I pause and read the names thereon.
I knew him; he was eighteen. That one died at twenty-one.
The names fade and recede. Beyond them I see a face.
It is wrinkled and worn, haunted by those who died in that place.
The face cries out for release
from guilt and pain that never cease.
Long, black wall – a dread eternal task you’ve earned,
Bear the names of those who died, collect the souls of those returned.
© Karen Rice
April 12, 2006
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
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