A Soldier's Memory

The morning cold bites through even my black coat

As long processions of mourners pass

The ebony wood of the casket met with lines

Of red and white stripes tagged with a blue square and white stars

Each holding their own value.

My wet eyes behold the resting bed as it passes

Forlorn with the flag draped across it

The emblem never to fly free again

Only to meet the cool of the sodden earth.

I can see him now

Eyes brimming with tears never to fall

Reminiscing upon the sorrows and pains of the past.

Blasts of the bombs on the side of the dirt road

Mingled with the cries of comrades, fallen for Freedom

Crunch of boots upon the rocks of the frigid desert mountains

Rattle and whizzing of rounds as they darted by, some into flesh and some into metal

Wails and prayers of the natives, a kin long lost.

He weeps for the men who walk within Death’s reach

And never return, but have won

For Death cannot conquer Freedom.

The soldier that returns, heart beating strong and full

Or upon a casket

Or with only a notice claiming the body missing but surely deceased

Had paid, in blood, in mind, in spirit, in memory

For his country

His family

His people

His comrades

His honor.

For the homeless in the brisk morning air with no blankets for warmth.

For the children playing outside without any cares or worries burdening their backs.

For the wealthy in the mansions upon the hills.

For the destitute who pray day and night for hope and strength to continue on.

For the captives of his enemies, long imprisoned by Power’s greedy grasp.

Mostly, his grace is for Humanity, Hope, and Peace.