For Those the Soldiers Love

Mud on our boots and covering our faces,

We trudge on.

Shielded from the on-pour only by the big fanned leafs above us,

The terrain is gray.

Much like the purpose of our journey.

The smell of smoke fills the air as we inhale the last bit of tobacco we have, preparing ourselves for what waits.

We never know what lays ahead the next mountain,

The next hill,

The next creek,

The next tree.

But every time we shut our eyes we see our hometowns

and the faces of the ones who are impatient to see us again.

Sick to our stomachs to have something of such worth in such a dreadful place, we let our tears stream down.

But even through the heartache we cherish these moments,

Knowing they are our purpose.

They are the reason we go on.

They are why we bear arms.

They are why we breathe.

To see them like that forever.

To see them free.