Men and women are three part beings. We all consist of body, soul, and spirit. When we refuse to acknowledge a third part of our makeup, we create a void that allows evil, prejudice, and hatred to rush in and wreak havoc. Spiritual influences were present within our educational Systems for most of our nation's history. Many of our major colleges began as theological seminaries. This is a historic fact. What has happened to us as a nation? We have refused to honor God and in doing so, we open the doors to hatred and violence. And when something as terrible as Columbine's tragedy occurs - -politicians immediately look for a scapegoat such as the NRA. They immediately seek to pass more restrictive laws that continue to erode away our personal and private liberties. We do not need more restrictive laws. Eric and Dylan would not have been stopped by metal detectors. No amount of gun laws can stop someone who spends months planning this type of massacre. The real villain lies within our OWN hearts. Political posturing and restrictive legislation is not the answers. The young people of our nation hold the key. There is a spiritual awakening taking place that will not be squelched! We do not need more religion. We do not need more gaudy Television evangelists spewing out verbal religious garbage. We do not need more million dollar church buildings built while people with basic needs are being ignored. We do need a change of heart and a humble acknowledgment that this nation was founded on the principle of simple trust in God. As my son Craig lay under that table in the school library and saw his two friends murdered before his very eyes. He did not hesitate to pray in school. I defy any law or politician to deny him that right! I challenge every young person in America and around the world to realize that on April 20, 1999 at Columbine High School - prayer was brought back to our schools. Do not let the many prayers offered by those students be in vain. Dare to move into the new millennium with a sacred disregard for legislation that violates your conscience and denies your God-given right to communicate with Him. To those of you who would point your finger at the NRA - I give to you sincere challenge. Dare to examine your own heart before you cast the first stone! My daughter's death will not be in vain. The young people of this country will not allow that to happen.

I have to admit that this next poem really touched my heart. It was written by the daughter of a Vietnam Vet. And having children of my own......Well you read it and I think you will understand why.

WE ARE THE CHILDREN We are the children of the Vietnam Vet’s; We are the one’s that will never forget; We remember our father’s, who were good at heart: And the day they came back, Men torn apart: Jumping at noises, that weren’t even there; Afraid to love and afraid to care; We wanted to hold them, Oh god how we try; But we still ask the question, the question is "WHY"; We pray for our children and the children to be; What happened to our father’s, theirs will never see; We cry for the dead, for the living too; Oh dear god, what more can we do; We are the children of the Vietnam Vet’s; "YES", We are the one’s that will never forget!!!!! Written by D. Neely Hayes

A TRIBUTE TO VETERANS

In Vietnam, Korea and World Wars Past Our Men Fought Bravely so Freedom Would Last Conditions Where Not Always Best They Could Be Fighting a Foe You Could Not Always See:

From Mountain Highs to Valley Lows From Jungle Drops to Desert Patrols

Our Sinewy Sons Were Sent Over Seas Far From Their Families And Far From Their Dreams They Never Wrote Letters Of Hardships Despair Only Of Love, Yearning That One Day Soon:

They Would Come Home, They Would Resume And Carry On With The Rest of Their Lives

The P.O.W.¹S Stood Steadfast Against the Indignities And Cruelties Of War They Could Not Have Lasted as Long as They Did If They Had Relinquished Their Hope That Some Day:

They Would Come Home, They Would Resume And Carry On the Rest Of Their Lives

Medics, Nurses, and Chaplains Alike Did What They Needed To Bring Back Life They Served Our Forces From Day Into Night Not Questioning If They Would Survive:

They Mended Bones And Bodies Too, They Soothed the Spirits of Dying Souls

And for Those M.I.A¹S, Who Were Left Behind We Echo This Message Across the Seas We Will search For as Long As It Takes You¹re Not Forgotten And Will Always Be:

In Our Hearts, In Our Prayers, In Our Minds For All Time

A Moment of Silence, a Moment of Summons Is Their Deliverance of Body And Soul To a Sacred Place That We All Know Deep In the Shrines of Our Soul:

In Our Hearts, In Our Prayers In Our Minds For All Time

(INTERLUDE) GOLD STAR MOTHERS GRIEVE: ENDLESSLY, ENDLESSLY, ENDLESSLY.......

These Immortalized Soldiers Whose Bravery Abounds They¹re Our Husbands, Fathers, and Sons They Enlisted For the Duty at Hand To Serve the Cause of Country and Land:

They Had Honor, They Had Valor, They Found Glory That Change Them Forever

Men Standing Tall and Proud They be A Country Behind Them in a Solemn Sea So Let the Flags of Freedom Fly Unfurled in Their Majesty High:

In the Sun, In the Rain In the Winds Across This Land

Years of Tears Has Brought Us Here Gathering Around to Hear This Sound So Let the Flags of Freedom Fly Unfurled in Their Majesty High:

In the Sun, In the Rain, In the Winds Across This Land

(REPEAT) In the Sun, In the Rain, In the Winds For All Time Jerry Calow (copyright 2003 )

THE FOLLOWING WERE SUBMITTED BY MIKE STEWERT, 2nd Platoon, 2nd Squad, "B" Co. 3/187th Infantry, 101st Airborne Division.

"DONG AP BIA MOUNTAIN 12 MAY 69 - 1 MAR 93"

Have you ever seen a man fly apart in front of your eyes, his torso disintegrating in a pink-red mist of yellow flame and ripping crescendo of sound. Everyone diving for cover, fighting for their mortal lives in less time than it takes for the neurons to fire so as to enable the brain to register the retinal input, of who-what-where? Some things get lost. Events swirl into a kaleidoscopic black hole of noise-pain-smells-mental and physical anguish-and horror— The human brain cannot keep up, events and time increments are lost, or misfiled. From that moment forward life becomes a quest for the Holy Grail. The Grail- "remembering." Remembering that later that same night you crept back up the hill, crawling, weapon ready, fingertip white on the trigger— Each twig, or piece of grass scraping on damp fear-soaked fatigues, sounding like a door slamming. Poncho in hand, nostrils flared, I used my nose to smell where the sticky, blood glazed pieces of his flesh lay. Drawn by the rust-iron smell of blood, I used my hands to gently put the clammy, cold, pieces of his body into the poncho. I found his foot still in his boot— the large ball-joint of his hip and thigh— one of his kneecaps— and an arm, his wrist and fingers stiffened in death— I failed in my mission that night. You see my orders were to recover the radios, machine guns, and M-16's, the rest of those killed dropped during their un-choreographed pirouettes of death. I failed in my mission because I chose to crawl past the abandoned weaponry to find him. It took damn near twenty years to find out who he was. All I could ever remember was that he died on day two of the battle, and that he was in the Third Platoon. The next morning I sat in the mud opening a can of C-rations for breakfast, wondering why all my fingernails were crusted red-brown- Before one can remember, one must forget. Sometimes it doesn't take very long. Yes, I disobeyed my orders. I had too. I needed to find him! I had to find him no matter what! I had to find him —so he could go home.

"DAYBREAK" Shivering in a poncho liner in pre-dawn light; the NVA will come soon, if they want to fight. Boots and pants legs damp from the nighttime dew; ants in a C-ration can, finishing last night’s stew. Fumbling for my steel pot, stifling a yawn, up before daybreak, bitching in the dawn. Kool-aid in canteens, no sugar to make it sweet, for killing the taste of stream water, it can’t be beat. Blackness starts to wane, the first rays of light; everyone is grateful for the end of another long night. Less things to be afraid of, less things to fear, waiting for the sun’s warmth as dawn draws near. Stillness. Getting brighter, warmth starts to flow inside; Fighting this war others ran from, self-satisfying inner pride. Insects feeling the sun’s rays, make noise as if to applaud; the danger has passed now, some begin to nod. A chopper somewhere distant, blades spanking the air; sweat starts to glisten, fingers run through greasy hair. Wiping off my face, green towel full of gritty sand; appreciation and fear intermixed, for this tropic land. Towering trees overhead, branches pay homage to the sky; what a beautiful place to live, but a horrible place to die. I wonder if those before me entertained similar thought? I wonder if we’ll be victorious, and wonder at what cost? For each man that went there, a price he had to pay, His body living or dead sent home, his soul is there to stay

25 YEARS

A quarter of a century has now passed since that day I finally left the 'Nam, returning to The World from a land filled with anger and so much harm.

The saddest part of leaving after two tours of dealing with the 'Cong, was in knowing that so many of my brothers would not be coming home.

Each Christmas, then on Memorial Day, and finally the all too noisy Fourth of July, a part of me that is nestled deep down inside always finds it hard to feel an emotional high.

To know that a dearest Mom and Dad will never share that hug and smile again; yet even worse, that a child of innocence must always carry that lonely and similar pain.

We left behind in a strange land so very many who today rest in eternal sleep, but with His love and the prayers of us all, He has taken their souls to keep.

Life was stolen, far and away too short for those who would never return; but out of this horrible and lengthy war may the country hope to now learn.

At what cost do we send off our youth to post in ever so strange a land, knowing only too well that our presence can escalate an anger so way out of hand.

Those who make the gravest of decisions all to often never have to act, such as he who delivers the burden of conflict, to sometimes never be allowed to turn back.

The toll exacted from warfare is in itself both immoral and simply just not right; a country should never resort to weaponry, destroying its youth for the sake of a fight.

But as Christmas again draws closer, and that special day of sharing is again here, part of my own day will be in remembering because all of you are held so very dear.

May God shed His grace on thee.

Walter F. Putnam I-CORP 68-69

_________________________________________________________