Tiny Spiders
Thomas Turner

Though I sit here -
in a wet, shadowy forest,
in an unknown land,
my mind travels through days
of peaceful, blue skies
and of water and of sand.

The choppers sweep over
like large, screaming birds.
One of them carries my best friend.
He died in my arms just last night.
I can still remember his last words.
"Will the fighting ever end?"

I can't say that I wish
I was with Johnny,
but I do wish to come home.
I don't like it here - and
I hate the things I see -
the blood, the guts, the bones.

This is no paradise.
But then again, Hell never is.
The flames last forever here,
so does the crying and the fear -
that of the innocent women and children,
from the houses, which they peer.

I sit before a nest
of tiny, tropical spiders.
I can't stop staring at them. Why?
Do these tiny spiders see me?
Do they see the blood dripping
from the corner of my eye?

There is a large nest
of even larger tropical spiders
in the gray distance up ahead.
They are darker, deadlier.
These spiders don't carry venom.
Instead, they carry lead.

These spiders want my blood;
for I am there enemy.
They do not want me here.
I, as well as my comrades…
we are all scared, but we are not cowards.
We are not like the men who sent us here.

We are not like the men
who always talk of war…
those who are afraid of peace.
We simply do their bidding,
killing the "uncivilized" people
they agree with the least.

The whistle has blown over
and the last bomb has fallen,
at least for this dark night.
I sit here and I wonder.
What makes them wrong?
What makes us right?

When the smoke is cleared
I wonder what will be next.
I wonder will I be alive.
Tell me, baby brother.
What will I have to come home to,
if I survive?

What awaits my return?
Will I be accepted
for the things I've done here?
For; there are many deeds -
actions that I remember in dreams -
nightmares I awake from in tears.

These deeds will follow me home.
I have stepped on many spiders.
I've drained their blood in many ways.
But, I have also lost a lot here -
friends, admiration, self-respect.
It only took a matter of days.

Now, I am ready to come home,
because I don't want to die.
Not here - not in this foreign land.
There is too much hate here.
I want to die at home,
near the water, near the sand.

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