Lush

Vietnam was green.
Lushness like he'd never seen.
He came home empty.

My soldier uncle,
dying deaths before he died.
19-years-old, gone.

Saved by death, some say.
Delivered from hell on earth:
His war legacy.

Who says war is art?
If art is made by a gun,
OK -- high art, then.

Curse this ugly art,
glorifying loss and gore.
You keep your glory.

I'd rather have my uncle,
living when he was alive.