Boat Ride

Date April First, Nineteen Forty Five.
Some of the servicemen did survive.
Not just one was all that stayed alive.
Get in if you care to take a ride.

Up early, dressed for a ride.
Twenty young men along by my side.
Helmet on head, down cargo net.
Holding L.S.M. close to ship. All set.

Day was almost ready to break.
Shoving off, hundreds in our wake.
Running without lights to see.
Shells lighting sky, so bright for me.

Setting course to where shells fell.
The job was to get there with men well.
All heads were down behind the ramp.
Making it to shore, not just to camp.

Having head up to see where to go.
Not too fast and not too slow.
Several boat running all abreast.
Taking young marines to final rest.

Hit the beach. Down went the ramp.
Making there a rush, just like boot camp.
Some made it to shore, very much alive.
But the terrible thing, some did not survive.

I, today, live on a hill with a view.
I still wonder about the rest of my crew.
History says we lost most in this campaign.
I sure hope we never, ever, do the same.

There are medals and monuments. These are fine.
But what can you do for survivor's troubled mind.
The ones who died in the long ago past.
The ones who lived have terrible memories that last.

If you have compassion for your fellow man.
Maybe you can help the survivors understand.
Okinawa, Iwo Jima, where we were that day
has been over fifty years, but in our minds yesterday.

I shed a tear some mornings at light
when I think of that terrible fight.
That was a big price we all paid.
Sometime I can hear the noise, see where they laid.

I know I am not alone by my own self.
There are other boy with many things left.
Fighting things in their mind alone.
Things that are past and days by gone.

Red James, USN