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My Dearest Lydia... The Last Letter From A Dying Soldier.

Updated on October 3, 2009


My Dearest Lydia,


on August 24, 2007.  ©-MFB III


I miss what we had, though I've had what I miss, I've had to miss
what we had, since war took me away. No pencil can write darkly enough
to match my mood without you, the lead is in me now anyway, and a pen will
have to do. I have uncapped the only way I can reach you, a cold hollow tube,
with a reservoir of blackest ink, leaked slowly like tears upon these
blank sheets far smaller then we used to share.

I once believed that ten teams of  wild horses could never pull me away from you,
but even wilder men have succeeded. Thousands of miles separate our lips
from pressing passion like fine wine, into intoxicating bliss.
Your picture is bloodstained and creased, but buttoned up tightly
in my fatigues, it carried me through many ungodly images of mayhem.

I want you to know only sweetness, your love like a perfumed scarf,
kept the stench of death from becoming unendurable here. Your letters have
been my voice of sanity amidst cries of agony. I only wish that I could
bring you the kind of peace they claim we are dying for, but this will be
my last bulletin to you, because there is a bullet in me. It was a hollow point,
and always will be, but it imploded amidst my intestines, and I am dying of septicemia.

I love you more then breath itself, and so in your honor,
and for the glory of our homeland, I will soon give it up.
Remember me in the wee hours of the mourn,
when you are a housewife, with cuddly babies dreaming in cradles,
and a lucky son of a non gun bearing man, snoozing next to you.

Think fondly of what could have been, without regret, for I was meant to be
part of the sacrifice that love requires men to make. I will dance with death,
and pretend it is you, as we waltz into the darkness or the light.

I am growing tired now, allow me to dream of you, of your gentle touch,
come to me there when you are sad and world weary, and I will wait for you.
Our dreams live on in the sighs of those more fortunate, the box awaits me,
where bones will dream amidst the dust of sleep beyond all waking.
I take your memories with me, my most precious possession, keep mine
in a small corner of your soul, and perhaps we can scrapbook them together
in heaven someday.

Farewell my lovely Lydia, I must close my eyes now as well as this letter.
I love you, beyond all that ever was, or will be, there is nothing more
to say, but that even as remains, I will remain............

Forever yours,


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