A young man's heart, is a fragile essence,
With fears and joyous acquiescence,
Many paths to choose, as fate would beckon,
Such potential to ensemble and reckon,
Turn the world into a paradise of celebrations,
Plateaus of life giving and beautiful creations.
But the powers that be, he hath no control whatever,
They determine his destiny on this endeavor.
The marching orders in this rendition,
Are dire enlightenment beyond any text book's cognition,
Or university curriculum to determine the right direction
For all to ponder, concerning the selection.
His native land called, so the youngster made of clay,
With ardor and naïveté, did not betray,
From innocence, he sojourned far away,
To serve his country well, he thought with sail.
But experience spoke quite a contrary tale,
As the horror of hell would prevail,
Marred his youth, and scarred his soul to no avail.
The damage done, he struggled through the bleakness,
When she cried, he laughed to hide the weakness,
Neither he nor she, had a clue to the deepness,
Forbidden entrance into that most holy fortress.
Fear had barred the Ark of his youthful plea,
And the ticking clock appeared to forever hold the key.
by Terry Presgrove
... who is a decorated Marine combat veteran and freelance
writer, and whose poetic inspiration dates from the 11 September
2001 terrorist attacks. The Vietnam Quatrain comprises
The Revolving Door, The Morning
After, The Stolen Key [Locked
In Stone], and What A Shame. Specimens
of his other work may be accessed at his website.