They talked of times gone past
And of their sweetest dreams
They buried the past as well as themselves
As they forded the jungle streams

They fought fatigue and desolation
Thirst and sleepless nights
Their home a hole, their meal from a box
Lived in hell for others rights

A letter written and tucked away
In a pocket near their heart
They hoped it would never be sent
Upon their death the two would part

They deemed each day to be their last
Death present where ever they roamed
While deep inside they understood
They were just “Dying” to go home

They stood on the edge of reality
Dwelled upon the brink of doom
Their thoughts were often “silenced”
Underneath the Vietnam Moon.

Squeeze my hand you bloody wanker,
still light in this here day.
Work to be done old cobber -
can’t sleep the day away

Talk to me you arsehole,
tell me that bloody joke again…
Got a tinny and a smoke here;
at least show that you’re in pain!

I’ll help you to your feet mate -
the chopper’s on the way.
You’ll be ok you silly bastard,
not your turn to die today

Some stupid bloody performance!
Open your eyes so you can see.
Breathe, you rotten arsehole…
don’t bloody die on me!

Shit mate - you’re not a lifer -
ten days an’ you’re out’a here.
The round eye sheilas’ll love ya
have no bloody fear.

Fair dinkum mate! Come off it…
you’re scarin’ shit out’a me!
We’re all dyin’ to bloody get home…

Please God swap him for me!

The words they spoke were different
but they sounded just the same
as friends
and ends
were oh too often evidenced
by their mingled heat and pain

The brothers, the mates, the whispers
beneath the moon they viewed
with longing
but belonging
to communities of air and tents
and visions of home were skewed

Poised thus ~ they never knew with certainty
what the next moon would reveal
but oh
just so
they could see it from a constant
home ! Perhaps their hearts might heal.

From their homes in different places
they’re near
and hear
they also died to come home ~ spent
still their heart wear the same faces

Mates and brothers returned with them
Home behind the moon is where they are;
they reach
and teach
them that they’re not so different
No trade ~ always were, always are never far.