DANCING WITH THE GRIM REAPER!	GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE, FORGET ABOUT THE WAR! Yeah, right... As surely as those who lost their lives in battle need to be remembered, those who survived need to be understood! WANT TO UNDERSTAND PTSD? READ "TMT" ~ EASY AS 1-2-3!

In Vietnam, soldiers were ordered to empty a twenty round clip, with their M-16 on full automatic, at a stationary target. This was known as a "mad minute." It was supposed to "reduce stress", too bad it didn't work... EXCERPTS FROM THE BOOK "THOUGHTS, MEMORIES AND TEARS" ~BY PETER S. GRIFFIN~ GHOSTS OF BATTLES PAST A poem by: Peter S. Griffin Spirits of those, claimed in the fight, Leave to us, to do whats right..... They gave their lives, for love of others, They've become, our beloved brothers..... They are, GHOSTS OF BATTLES PAST, In our hearts, their spirits last.... They share with us, their special love, Remember them, for what they've done...... The time of warriors, a fleeting thing, Gabriel's trumpet calls, the Angels sing.... The souls of troopers, take to wing, A soldier's death, how battle stings..... Don't let their spirits roam, In your heart, give them a home.... Their death then has, a sacred meaning, Not in vain, their sacrifice, glowing, beaming.... To some, he's gone, eternity, he now belongs, Quiet, listen, you'll hear his song.... He's telling you, hold back those tears, He'll be with you, throughout the years.... Tragic events will stay in your mind, Like sad movies, they play, then rewind.... Never ending, awake or asleep, Just a reminder, their love to keep.... Death's anniversary, will come, then go, It gives you the chance, their love to grow.... Refuse to let, their deaths be sad, Celebrate their love, the love, you have.... A friend like him, never dies, In your heart, his spirit thrives.... He gives to you, that part of him, His lasting love, you two, now kin.... They stay with you, not to haunt or taunt, Simply because, there's something they want.... Their desperate need, not to conceive guilt, Just remember them, their spirit not wilt.... When you hear, the sound of "Taps", That song of, GHOSTS OF BATTLES PAST.... Tis their bugle, pure and solemn, Reminding you, one day, you join their column.... Till then, rejoice, you know the secret, In your heart, the locket, you keep it.... Death can't steal, this love that lasts, Live on, be at peace, for GHOSTS OF BATTLES PAST....! "GROWING COLD" From: "Thoughts, Memories and Tears" CLICK COVER TO ORDER BOOK SIZE: 8.50" X 11" Waiting for battle, you empty your bladder, Control of your nerves, you must gather... You and your buddies, grow impatient, All pray to God, for salvation... You think of home, the loved ones there, What you could lose, heightens your fear... Fight you will, must hold your own, Can not dwell on the pleasures of home... Hypervigilant, you must be, Stay alert, so tomorrow, you'll see... For every day, you stay alive, Betters the chances, you'll survive... Adrenalin flowing, the battle thrilling, You fight hard, add to the killing... For kill you must, you have no choice, You hear a scream, it be your voice... You see them die, be friend or foe, Can't permit, your emotions show... A sign of weakness, you can't display, Your innermost thoughts, you can't relay.... To see the casualties, by the score, Embeds in your mind, the horrors of war... You must do your duty, you are a soldier, Fight you do, can't give no quarter.... They keep coming, can't believe the carnage, Hold your ground, fear you must harness... Snake and nape, fill the air, Heat from explosions, your flesh does sear... More determined, with each attack, How much longer, can this last? Hear the bullets , striking flesh, The smells of war, fill each breath... As you look, you see friends fall, Must counterattack, and kill them all... "Charge, charge, take that hill", The spirit of the bayonnet, "kill, kill, kill!" Suddenly, the battle ends, A gentle rain, God does send... As if He wants, to wash away, The death that happened, on this day... As you scan the battlefield, The blood and gore makes you reel... Bodies lying all over the place, A look of "WHY?", froze on their face... The smells make your stomach retch, Insects feeding, as you gasp for breath... The wounded groaning, crying for help, Gather your wits, control yourself... To the wounded, you do give aid, Never knowing, if life you saved... Victory, the battlefield, you do possess, Room to bury the dead, in due process? The sound of helicopters, fill the air, Pop green smoke, there's no enemy snare.... Medivacs load the wounded, Their thump, thump, thump, so very soothing... Slicks and gunships also land, Here to offer, a helping hand? Oh so glad, the battle's over, Relieved to be, one day older... As I watch, myself, I question, What will I learn, from this lesson? Will I be changed, forever after, In my life, still room for laughter? A gallant action, they say, "we won", Got the enemy, on the run... "Saddle up, lock and load", Is only their trail, GROWING COLD? Are you numb inside? Don't let the malignancy thrive! Click above icon to ORDER YOUR AUTOGRAPHED COPY from AUTHOR'S DEN! This book fits like hand and glove with "When You Hear The Bugle Call" PLEASE, REMEMBER ME A poem by: Peter S. Griffin The weight of my gear pulls on my shoulder straps, Forty eight hours ago, we caught a brief nap.... Sweat rolls down my face, burning my eyes, Heavy fighting but, thank God, I'm still alive.... Man, I'm totally exhausted, need a brief rest, Just for a minute, need to catch my breath.... No time to stop, the patrol must push on, An urgent mission, nothing must go wrong.... Dense triple canopy jungle, thick, green bamboo, Damp, clammy fatigues, stick to my flesh like they're glued.... I can smell the vegetation, so earthy as it enters my nostrils, Strange, extinct looking spiders and centipedes scamper, like living fossils.... Our pointman signals, enemy trail watchers up ahead, A silent knife attack, two khakied figures now lay dead.... Hardcore NVA, hope none of them got away, If so, there could be hell to pay.... The trail branches off in several directions, All leading up a great mountain, without exception.... As we cautiously make our way, We enter a large enemy base camp, to our dismay...! As my disbelieving eyes scan the terrain, Adrenalin rushes to my brain...! Weapons switch from safety to full automatic, To say we were violating an enemy battalion would be diplomatic! In boiling pots, rice is cooking, I sense unseen eyes, at me, are glaring.... On a transistor radio, Vietnamese music is playing, A silent prayer, I am praying.... No way, could this camp be seen from the air, Not even sunlight could penetrate this thick jungled lair...! Camouflaged bunkers, spider holes and tunnels all over the place, The enemy vanished, seemingly, without a trace...! An underground hospital, surgically equipped, Bamboo mats and stretchers filled every niche.... Bloody bandages strewn on the ground, But even in here, not a soul was found.... "It's eerie man, lets get the hell out of here, Lets make like Charlie and disappear...!" We pass through the camp without incident, Our trespass went unchallenged, no argument...! Instinct tells me, we should get well away from here, Have an uncanny feeling, the "The Grim Reaper" be near.... The past couple days we had the upper hand, Had we now ventured too far into "Victor Charlie's" land...? We had located what we were looking for, Hopefully undetected we'd sneak out the door.... Reporting what we had found, We'd beat feet to safer ground....! There was no doubt we were on Charlie's turf, Nearly undetectable punji pits were no quirk.... The thick jungle concealed many deadly snares, Camouflaged bunkers easily reached by hidden stairs.... Stealthily we made our way, Best to fight another day.... Silently, careful not to make a sound, Swear I could hear my heart beat and pound.... My breathing labored as we climbed hill after hill, The jungle so dense you couldn't see nihil.... Thick bamboo concealed a deadly enemy trap, Blindly we had climbed right into their lap.... Murderous fire erupted nearly point blank, A thunderous volley tore into our flank.... Machinegun bunkers to our front, AK's on our right, Our whole column trapped in a vicious firefight.... Enemy soldiers in the banyans of trees, Devestating fire, bringing us to our knees.... Hiding low amongst their roots, The invisible enemy could safely shoot.... Our M16's opened up with a deafening roar, Through the bamboo our projectiles tore.... Pulling back we dove for cover, Chicom grenades bounced one after the other.... In the kill zone I heard a friendly soldier's cries, "Medic, medic!, help me, or I'm going to die"...! In the enemy's hate, they used him as bait, To expose myself, they laid in wait.... Bullets whizzed by my head, three attempts to no avail, They had him locked in an unpenetrable jail.... For an eternity I heard him suffer and moan, Then a single shot, he involuntarily let out his final groan.... "Pull back, take the high ground to our rear!", Firing like hell amid chaos and fear.... Three soldiers to my front fell to a waiting machinegun, The bastards had us on the run...! Thinking, "I'm only nineteen, I can not die!", I heard myself scream as I fired so wild.... Bamboo splinters tore into my flesh, Hot shrapnel stung, stealing my breath...! Running obliquely down the hill, Seemingly out of my body, as my blood was spilled...! I tripped and fell over a grotesque corpse which had no face, Death closing in, encompassing this hellish place...! Enemy soldiers block my path, I fire again, a hail of bullets tear and slash.... I fall and roll farther down the hill, Suddenly alone, all quiet and still.... Shocked, I quickly realize, blood pumping from my chest, I'm badly hurt, lungs gasping and rasping to catch a breath.... I can't feel my legs, they will not move, Please God, I don't want to die, too much to lose.... Weaker and weaker I become, Blood is squirting from my lungs.... Enemy voices are all around me, I'm partially hidden in tangled roots of bamboo trees.... I cover my body the best I can, Scratching the moist ground with bloody hands.... The aroma of the musky earth, once again fills my nose, I can not resist as my eyes begin to close.... Slowly, quietly my strength fades away, Making peace with The Almighty, I pray.... "Dear God, my country tis of thee, All I ask is they PLEASE, REMEMBER ME...." God bless our valiant "EAGLES WHO HAVE SOARED!" JUST SOLDIERS A poem by Peter S. Griffin These men,...who went off to war, Came home to face, society's closed doors.... Mocked by the unfleshed critics, Ridiculed by self believing, righteous idiots.... Liberal politicians, they got the job done, JUST SOLDIERS..., accepted by none.... Unsung heroes, hung out to dry, Misfits of society, they knew not why...? They served their country, with marked distinction, Came home to witness, dignity's extinction.... They carried quietly, the scars of war, Tolerated a society, erupted with putrid sores.... Enduring all, with a broken heart, They carried on, tried to do their part.... Guilt was born, of shattered trusts and evil seeds, Corrupting justice and their meritorious deeds.... Yet, they struggled, for what they believed, On a daily basis, they were continually deceived.... Haunted by war and profound injustice, Rejected society and it's label of.., maladjusted...! Can't help, JUST SOLDIERS, they are mentally ill, It's their fault, they went off to kill.... But a sick society, much harder to treat, Because, on it's self, it continues to feast...! It persists to tell their soldiers, they are sick, Counts it's dollars, praises it's rich.... Don't matter, JUST SOLDIERS, died by the score, Too busy worshipping, Satan's great whore...! They see a homeless veteran, kneel and pray, Turn their heads, look the other way.... Much too busy, aborting babies, saving the seals, Not their responsibility, to provide him with meals.... For you know, you are right, To hell with they, who bore the fight.... Discard their bones, before they moulder, After all, they are only, JUST SOLDIERS...! Through the eyes of the scorned... Always support our troops, especially in time of war! No more Vietnams, please help our homeless veterans. PTSD - A LIVING HELL FOR YOU AND ME! ©GOT THINK! PTSD? War changes minds... scarred for all time! Time stands still when PTSD rules! Beyond fear... The Thousand Yard Stare! Feelings numb... relationships done! Flashbacks rear, hell reappears! Intrusive thoughts flare, the devil snares! Nightmares scare... spouses fear! When booze fuels, PTSD rules! Use street drugs... grave is dug! Want to fight, pain be your plight! Sense of impending doom? Gloom a shroud-like cocoon? Whats left of a "band of brothers" you count on one hand. A torrent of tears can't buy back lost years... Feeling alone, life unfair? Done that, been there! Want peace? Seek release! No where to turn? Look up! Down on your knees? Pray! Brighten your days, let God light the way! Want to provoke? Try a heartfelt note! Sincerely talk... true friends won't balk! Professionals want to hear... VAMC doctors do care! Remember "The Lair!" and have "NO FEAR!" Then, together, we'll toss this damn spectre the hell out of here! PTSD - Professional Treatment Strongest Defense! If you suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder please seek professional help and dedicate yourself to getting better. Then, perhaps you may be able to live your life in some semblance of contentment as so vividly and beautifully expressed in the following. from: "DESIDERATA" by Max Ehrmann Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence...speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story...If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble, it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees or the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. THE SHROUD OF DESPAIR DISINTEGRATES AS REVEALS THE MYSTIQUE OF COMBAT PTSD! You can now order "When You Hear The Bugle Call" from Barnes&Noble.com click cover. AWARD - THE PCSD PURPLE HEART LAIR COMMOHUT GRIFFIN'S LAIR WELCOME PAGE HEROES FIGHT TERROR NO FREEDOMS! GRIFFIN'S LAIR TABLE OF CONTENTS THE AIRBORNE SPIRIT COMMENTARY PAGE - REMEMBER SEPTEMBER! UNITED WE MUST STAND! PLEASE HELP THE DEGA THOUGHTS, MEMORIES AND TEARS BROTHERS THREE THOUGHTS ABOUT PTSD MEMORIES OF MY BROTHERS' SERVICE WW II NAVY DIARY TEARS FOR OUR MOMS DALE F. YEE, U.S. PARATROOPER THE ODYSSEY BEGINS THE ODYSSEY CONTINUES ATTACK COMPANY WIDOWMAKERS 1 WIDOWMAKERS 2 AN AFTERNOON IN VIETNAM HONORING THE 327TH INFANTRY HONOR ROLL-COMPANY G, 187th ARCT PARATROOPER HEAVEN VIETNAM CHRONOLOGY THANK YOU VETERANS THE GOLDEN GRIFFIN AWARD LINKS AND WEBRINGS JUMP SCHOOL PHOTO ALBUM    Or Select a Site © Celebrate Life There May Be No Time Like The Present! Please visit our other website below. Tara's Tale is a children's literature presentation that the entire family will enjoy. Come to the mystical land of Mineral Springs and meet The Wood Witch and all of her magical friends! This story was written as a constructive aid for children and young adults to better understand life, death, and to help them accept the loss of a loved one with a positive and healthy attitude.