We are mad, not only individually, but nationally.
          We check manslaughter and isolated murders;
          but what of war and the much vaunted crime of
          slaughtering whole peoples?
          ----- Seneca: "Ad Lucilium XCV"

          There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
          ----- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

          From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly
          fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
          ----- William Wordsworth

     This is a nation without remorse. Not the least sign of sorrow (regret) for its deeds. Actually, it is rather proud of what it has done. Celebration through all of Spring, jubilations over its victory, ending with its annual party for "self". Only this time the brightness in the people's eyes outshined the patriot's white streak. The popping and booming of fireworks out shouted the explosions of missiles and bombs. Tears of joy and pride for lives spared, but not a single blank stare to look at death's horror. The patriotism became obnoxious, seeing all the parades and partys and flag waving, knowing all the Iraquian men burned, buried, and otherwise barbarically killed. Mostly common men, forced into a war they did not want, dying for some _____________ leader's ego. This nation did oblige to the blood letting for its own ego as well it seems.

     Without remorse. Another bit of this nation's moral has faded away. With its innocence lost during Vietnam and lack of regret concerning all war's "Nam", it is satisfied to vent its rage and commit whatever acts it takes to make it feel good about itself again. Those few years ago there was talk of kill-lost ratios, reduction of war to impersonal numbers, small numbers of 50 to 1 then, grossly large numbers of 1,000 to 1 now. The comparison to Vietnam is absurdly made, "We sure kicked the Vietnam syndrome in the butt." The looming terror of approaching battle is not to be made light of, but to compare a four day joy-ride through the desert to 365 day ordeal of survival is truly a cruel joke on those who watched their buddies die day after day, week after week. Still no remorse for that war and now none for this one.

     There's only one frail voice which speaks words of remorse. Years will pass before others hear its cry. Another generation of PTSS will be regulated to the seldom visited rooms of VA hospitals. There was this part of a phone conversion between a mother and her son who had just returned from battle; a casual question with a most profound answer. "How are you doing?" asks the mother. "Mom, I've killed a lot of people, an awfully lot of people."