I crossed the boundaries of time and space for you, it’s true,

With mental fortitude I tailored a craft inside which I flew,

Reality ruled as Vietnam’s war was reason I escaped to you,

I held you dear as I understood you were the sanity I’d return to,

Still I crave my lips placed upon a liquor bottle’s neck, yes I do,

I avoided napalm’s hell with heat above now I need escape to,

Therapy and healing will return me to war if it’s what I want to do,

As tears fall I beg, have you not heard my sobs echo around you?

My hair has grayed and muscles I gained are gone, my mind too,

Memories of men’s brutality upon my frame cause tears to brew,

Where is my photograph of her that I’m desperately addicted to?

Angel of saving light please guide me home, Patti I beg this of you,

I’ve written rhymes of love for you numbering a thousand, it’s true,

Help cleanse my flesh I beg I’m made too unclean to be near you,

I’m filthy through as I was raped by thirty six men paying their due,

Dislocation torture wrecked body and mind but for dreams of you,

These lines upon my face were your gifts of time to me, a few,

No letters to my name creates a new name but not inflicted by you,

“No Mail Pat” is how I’m known for two years now, in this hospital too,

I’ve lines upon my face from worrying of you finding someone new,

Not long ago I once stood erect, also handsome tall, I wasn’t askew,

I’ve a story of hardship in my heart and my war journey return to you,

The wear upon my face is a soldier’s disgrace, so is citizens hate too,

Too tears I cried alone in a foreign cell as my remaining lifetime flew,

Now I’ll put my fate in God’s hands as I pray you’re praying for me too,

I’ve kept your picture safe from harm inside my flesh I have held you,

In my heart and mind I have held you in a lover’s waltz, it’s all true,

Though dislocated and unable to stand I smiled because, I love you,

To hear birds sing lifted my heart to enter precious memories of you,

With the convertible top down your beautiful face framed by sky blue,

I touched American soil from a stretcher laid flat while thinking of you,

I’m returning home, I’ll kiss you again if it’s the last thing I do, I love you.

The end, by Pat for Patti. 1969