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Are they still there?
The ones lost years ago
Rotting in a cage somewhere
We really need to know
After all these many years
I can't help but wonder why
The answers are still unknown
And time has passed them by
They went to serve for all of us
Both draft and volunteer
To help protect this country
For things which we hold dear
I'd wager they remember us
We're always in their mind
So I can not understand
Why we can not find
The time to seek the truth
And find our countrymen
To bring them home were they belong
In a battle we must win
It seems the county has forgotten
The men of yesterdays war
Who gave up everything they had
Their freedom, and much more
They gave up the right to see
Their children as the grew
The joy and love of family
These things they never knew
The future they had planned for
The life they'd hoped to live
The job, the school, the talents
These men had much to give
They traded all they had
For the honor and the right
To stand up for this country
For it's ideals, to fight
And isn't one of those ideals
Freedom for all to share
But what of the freedom of the POW?
After all, are they still there?


          Listening Post 1

Sitting in the tall grass
Listening, making no sound
Hearing no movement
Waiting, listening
Fear creeps into my mind, slowly
Fastening onto my imagination
Pushing aside any common sense
Weakening my bowels
Is that a sound?
The foe or friend
Sanchez is on my left
Pete is on the right
Listening, waiting, fearing
The darkness drifts across
A movement?
The breeze
Listening for the sound
You'll never hear
Watching for the sight
You'll never see
Fear grips tighter as I hear
The breath rush from Sanchez's lungs
As the knife is buried
Between his ribs
That strange gurgling sound
As I hear Pete's final breath
They've got those two
I know that I am next
My crotch becomes soaked
As fear drives away control
They're closer now, I know
My shaking must give me away
I want to stand and scream
"Come on, you son of a bitch!"
"Here I am, come and get me"
But I sit in shame, silent
Now I feel the hand grab my chin
Head back, the knife so sharp
The blood rushing hot down my chest
Now so cold, so very cold
As the sun breaks over the ridgeline
It's heat warming my helmeted head
My eyes open, it's O-6 hundred
My shift is over finally
Raising, I see Sanchez
Getting up slowly, stretching
Pete is brushing off his pants
Their laps no wetter than mine
The fear I see at first
In both's down cast eyes
Is washed away swiftly
By the morning sun's warmth
And we trudge back to the compound
Stiff and sore, and silent
Another night has ended

"Listening Post 1 reporting in"