The world was close to Total War,
And freedom lost for forty years
In East. It was a time of fears
Of missiles’ drop and dead in scores,
Approach of Orwell’s ’84.

We could have walked the college halls,
Yet, loving liberty and land,
We took our place, we raised our hand
Against the Gulags and the Wall
Which irked our ire, we faithful band

Of brothers. We loved each other.
Each was a boy; each was a man.
And only we can understand
That Age, those tales we try to cover,
Prepared to take the Final Stand

As only friends and brothers can.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2017



Lenin’s fist clung, and Reagan ruled,
A Wall in Berlin still stained red.
The rest of earth was Kremlin-led
And Doomsday hung: such was our world.

Some came from West, and some from South,
Still others Yankees, all bright youth.
We struggled hard to find some truth
Between a bottle and our mouths.

Some braved Britain, some Germany,
Most sat in Towers far from home.
Some sought Quixotic strength in Rome,
And grappled meaning for those free.

We each began our wistful page
In Age of Armageddon’s hold.
Now we are aged, as wine, I’m told;
Yet some are buried, such our wage.

Some have forgotten, memories
Wiped out by agents, sly, unknown,
Yet drum still beats in undertone;
We march together, you and me.

In year, how many shall be gone,
Cut by a scythe as old as Old?—
The tragedy of War gone Cold
Which we will fight till one, alone,

Shall whisper wish for better Spring.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2017