I studied him, eyes closed as if in prayer, Rugged face and furrowed brow. I yearned to see him and not stare; Aged, no youth in him now. I wondered how he came to be, This man I met each day. How he came to mean so much to me, Why our lives had crossed this way. I saw a man who thought life sad, … Continue reading This Man I knew
There are two kinds of dead in war: those who die and those who live. Those who die stay dead; those who live die again and again and again until, someday, they too stay dead. He died in World War II during the Battle of Okinawa, but lived another forty-nine years filled with anger that he did not die in the war and stay dead. … Continue reading Eighteen Thousand Two Hundred and Fifty
The Writings of William C. Pennington 