Early this morning, while our country snuggled down warm in it's bed, 14 Marines were killed by an IED in Iraq.
This news drifted out of my radio as I readied myself for my day, and I choked my salty heart back into my coffee cup. And I can't stop crying. And I have to put on my bathing suit and booties and go wade in the mud in the marsh, but I can't stop crying.
Sometimes, the unbearable pain of this world is too much weight for my narrow shoulders to hold all on their own. Sometimes, I want scream. I want to scream at my president, who is this morning vacationing in Texas. I want to scream at the Liberal politicians who talk pretty to their base and don't have any idea what it's like to be a warrior. No, you Asshole, we can't bring them home. Don't you understand, they don't want to come home. I want to scream at the Chickenhawk Republicans who solemnly bow their heads and mock-honor the nobility of war, when they were never there and their children never will be, and their pockets are filling faster than Solemons storeroom. I want to scream at my TV and curse this media, for keeping my countrymen vapid and detatched. For encouraging commerce and discouraging questions. For never, never showing us their faces or their coffins or their names. Have you seen even one coffin on TV? No you havn't, and theres a good reason for that you know. Mostly, I want to scream and cry and rage in the face of every person I pass on the street, of every American living their lives unaffected and ambivalent about the fact that we are at War.
You may hate the protesters, but at least they are engaged. And you may hate the recruiters, but at least they are proactive in this world. You may hate my juvenile emotional ignorant rant, but at least I'm feeling this.
America's babies are dying, and nobody seems to be feeling it.
This news drifted out of my radio as I readied myself for my day, and I choked my salty heart back into my coffee cup. And I can't stop crying. And I have to put on my bathing suit and booties and go wade in the mud in the marsh, but I can't stop crying.
Sometimes, the unbearable pain of this world is too much weight for my narrow shoulders to hold all on their own. Sometimes, I want scream. I want to scream at my president, who is this morning vacationing in Texas. I want to scream at the Liberal politicians who talk pretty to their base and don't have any idea what it's like to be a warrior. No, you Asshole, we can't bring them home. Don't you understand, they don't want to come home. I want to scream at the Chickenhawk Republicans who solemnly bow their heads and mock-honor the nobility of war, when they were never there and their children never will be, and their pockets are filling faster than Solemons storeroom. I want to scream at my TV and curse this media, for keeping my countrymen vapid and detatched. For encouraging commerce and discouraging questions. For never, never showing us their faces or their coffins or their names. Have you seen even one coffin on TV? No you havn't, and theres a good reason for that you know. Mostly, I want to scream and cry and rage in the face of every person I pass on the street, of every American living their lives unaffected and ambivalent about the fact that we are at War.
You may hate the protesters, but at least they are engaged. And you may hate the recruiters, but at least they are proactive in this world. You may hate my juvenile emotional ignorant rant, but at least I'm feeling this.
America's babies are dying, and nobody seems to be feeling it.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
nocontrol:
It's nice to see that someone still cares. Too many of us don't.
eli:
frickin planet