Yes call us dead men walking,
We shadows in this jungle,
Eyes stare yet do not see,
Lips move yet do not speak,
Patiently our enemy waits,
Ever onward the end we seek.

Wearily one foot drug after another,
Each day fading into the next,
All like those which came before,
Mildew and grime envelop us,
Leeches and rash leave us numb,
All manner of insects share the feast.

Our path littered with blissful dead,
For who suffering is at an end,
Still comrade, stranger, and foe alike,
Lost to sorrow, pain, or love of life,
Reminded only by the putrid stench,
Questionably is it them or us that offends?

Yet deep inside our tortured soles,
All reason and sanity slip our hold,
For war takes this terrible toll,
Each callous now our value of life,
Forgotten loved ones ask who are we now,
Shame, remorse, call us dead men walking...

S. L. Keck
February 11, 2000