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RANCID RAIN It's been over thirty years but still I can't shed this bungled pain. Pain of recalling a muggy jungle, during a hot summer rain. Haunting smells of a rancid jungle taunts, no matter my restrain. I can't block out pungent showers, being drenched by the acid rain. Showered by my loyal memories of my squad's battles fought in vain. In stench of gunpowder, dead fish, rotting flesh, rinsed by a fallen rain. I think of the fallen soldiers, whose repute never wandered to wain. I remember those dead or wounded and odors of dried blood melt in the rain. The burned flesh and singed hair, deeply set, tattooed into my brain. So tainted nothing washes it away, not even the acids in rancid rain. Blood mixed with mud of the jungle sent Viet Cong retreating in refrain. I recall their troops hated getting wet, so they hid themselves from the rain. I recollect our prayer of years ago, 'Oh God, grant relief from rancid pain! Lest we never forget, bring on monsoons, Lord let it rain and rain, let it rain!' 'Amen' |
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