Slowly breathing with a steady beat
Boots are crunching you feel the heat
You inch on closer, looking around
Watching your friends make not a sound
You have been told to kill this man
A threat he is to freedoms plan
Hold up your rifle, take careful aim
Let go of the guilt your not to blame
Orders you follow a good soldier you are
Try not to think the size of the scar
That this order will bring deep in your soul
We raise the flag on top of this soldier's hole
I will give support, I will lend my hand
So you can brother, continue to stand
To fight for the freedoms of people everywhere
Down your rifle I, with you, shall stare
Soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears?
Hold in your mind those nail- biting fears
March till you drop, sing the marching song
Even though, for home you heart it does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Oh soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears
For this night your safe, soften those fears
Lay down so quiet and hum your wholesome song
Hum how much for home your heart does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Now soldier boy, now soldier boy
Could this be the morn when death does appear?
And I know it will be hard to hide up that fear
Don't let him in, it's just the funeral song
Pretty soon now for home, your heart will not long
You will not cry, oh do not cry
For you always cared to try
Soldier boy hold up that head
For now you layed on eternities bed
Dad never knew his father. That soldier died in a war.
All Dad heard was brief stories of the man that went before.
Grandma had some pictures and some medals on a wall.
But Dad never knew his father which was what mattered most of all
I’ve done some family history, and seen the ship’s manifest.
I’ve heard again the story of the good ship Lafayette--
How Grandma and her children searched the waves for periscopes,
Knowing that one torpedo could blow away all of their hopes.
This could have been in any war. Soldiers die and families flee.
But this was the family story that was handed down to me.
It started in old England, then to an immigration line:
A 3-year-old at Ellis Island, in July 1939.
They fled their burning country, to be called “war refugees”.
With help from an old uncle and a kind community,
Grandma made a new start here in the land of liberty.
They learned that Grandpa was killed in ‘44 in Italy.
I found online the letter, that my Grandma didn’t see,
About how the Sergeant-Major’s infantry company
Was caught out in the open by Wehrmacht artillery.
The letter said he didn’t suffer. Was he really killed instantly?
I never knew my Grandpa, though I was named after him.
Though I served a different flag, I was a soldier like him.
I’ve seen my father’s scrapbook, and Grandpa’s medals on the wall.
But I never knew my Grandpa which was what mattered most of all.
We would get used to the heat
If not for the body-armor.
We could always taste the dust
Which made it seem even warmer.
Ballistic sunglasses blocked the glare,
But didn't keep out the sweat.
The smell of raw sewage and rot
We would never soon forget.
I assumed the ground would be sandy,
But it was really all silt and clay.
There was so much fouled standing water
After their annual rainy season days.
The only time I wasn't over-heating
Was in January's rains in Mosul, Iraq.
After wading through so much filth,
I'm happy to never, ever, ever go back.
Scars, that's what endear
to a grenadier.
From: Governor Silva, Lucias Flavius
To: Commander, Legio X "Fretensis"
The Judean slaves finally finished the assault ramp.
Order the centurions to roust the legionnaires from each camp.
Give each of your legionnaires extra water and a double ration,
Then assemble the squares and set them in motion.
The last of the defenders are cowering behind the wall.
Well before nightfall, I should expect Masada fortress to fall.
Among Eleazar Ben Yair's Zealots are Sicarii assassins,
So ensure that each prisoner taken is searched for hidden weapons.
Capture as many as you can of them to be sold for slaves;
But toss all their dead off the cliffs--don't bother digging graves.
It may still be awhile before the Tenth Legions rotates back home;
When that day comes, I'm sure Vespasian will honor you all before Rome.
An aspiring marine
is assuredly green,
but he's not as much green
as a drowned marine.
Here we go men! Into the valiant fight!
Where men become men and cowards flee our sight!
Iron will clang and feet will race;
As bullets are thrown at a frightening pace!
Men will be thrown and cries will be heard –
As we fly our way through the smoke like a bird.
But in the end we shall acquire our victory;
And together we’ll go down in the great epic of history!
One Month Down
I wake up when he calls in the middle of the night,
He says for our country that he’s proud to fight.
I close my eyes and I push away worry,
I talk about things that are cuddly and furry.
I won’t relax until I can hold him again,
But if anyone can do this, it’s got to be him.
I’ll always hope and I’ll always pray
That my favorite soldier comes home someday.
I’m honored to support him and proud to be his wife,
He’s my everything. He’s my whole life.
It’s hard to imagine that he’s already left,
And taken my heart, now that’s petty theft.
My soldier inspires me to care and to love,
And I keep praying to our Lord up above
For his safe return and a happy marriage,
And someday a mini-soldier in a blue and white carriage.
I miss the way he rests his hand on my face,
I’m hopelessly clumsy but he only sees grace.
I can’t cook, but he doesn’t care
Because when we order take-out, I always share!
I am very fortunate to be with him,
Because he gives to our country again and again.
I’m never alone because he’s close to my heart,
On earth or in heaven, we’re never apart.
I wonder what my soldier is doing right now,
And if he’s sad or scared or anxious somehow.
I love him more today than ever before,
And tomorrow I’ll love my soldier just that much more.
Please come back to me, soldier, safe and sound.
Eight more months until you’re homeward-bound.
I hear a mother softly cry
As she sings a war-born lullaby.
The song of a father who went away,
To give freedom one more day.
He promised that he would return,
Return from watching evil burn.
It was a promise he could not keep,
As now he sleeps an eternal sleep.
He gave his life so his child could see,
A land of freedom and liberty.
His body now rests beneath green grass,
His medals and picture behind clear glass.
His soul, however, is not gone.
His ideas and dreams are carried on.
She sings the song of war’s high cost.
She sings the song of freedom not lost.
She sings of a father’s sacrifice,
For his country and family he gave his life.
The smartest cavaliers at the command 'To horse!'
contrive to be in time for both a horse and whores.
A soldier dies for the sake of his country
He lived in a land where we’re all meant to be free
Bleeding from his wounds he speaks before his life is done
“Not every soldier goes to heaven and I fear that I am one”
“I fought to save the innocent from suffering”
“I fought so hard but I couldn’t save them from dying”
He gasps as he chokes on his tears
His mind is but a fleeting memory thinking of long forgotten years
“My parents said to grow up and live strong”
“If they could see me now, would they hold me before I’m gone?”
“Or have I crossed the line between man and beast?”
“Oh Lord I beg of you, let this pain cease”
“Or has God forsaken man?”
“Does it matter? I’ve already fought and died for this land”
Hovering between life and death
He speaks with his last breath
“Is God watching now, have I done well?”
“If not heaven, where else can I go? For I’ve already seen hell”
He looked at his orders and left out a long sigh
Raised his eyes to the clouds and asked, "Why, God, Why?"
The toughest assignment of a long career
A message to be taken to a family held dear.
He arrived at the station and began his walk down the street
There was a feeling of anguish he could not defeat
He found the home he was looking for
Took a deep breath and walked to the door
The man's face became filled with fear
He knew in his heart why the soldier was here.
As he delivered the message that their only son had died
"Oh no, not my baby, not my baby," the young mother cried.
There was a look of despair in the father's sad eyes
And undeniable grief in the young mother's cries
Their son had been butchered, not killed in the field
There would be no viewing, the casket was sealed.
We will not retaliate as the lone church bell tolls
Our leaders don't want to look bad in the polls
There is a feeling of anger that through my body runs
As politicians sharpen their image with the blood of our sons.
At night, alone, he feels the tears fill his eyes
The soldier is haunted by the young mother's cries
The war rages on and he answers the call
The battle continues and more soldiers fall.
We are in another Vietnam but this time it is not the war splitting the country. It
is the apathy of the American people. We need to care. We need to recapture our
patriotism and pride. We are watching our children die while the administration
bows down and worships the oil companies. We watch as people continually
violate our rights by abusing the first amendment. We are fighting a war for five
years that should have lasted five weeks. I'll fight to defend my country, but I'll be
damned if I'll fight so Shell and Exxon can get their hands on Iraqi oil.
Who fought Alone
Untimely death, why come so near
To taunt my soul with mortal fear.
I cannot go - so unprepared
So full of life and yet so scared.
The world’s held nothing for me but strife
And yet, O lord, I cling to life.
A fatherless boy in a Gorbals slum
Who owes his being to a tot of rum.
The industrial school with its air of blame
The endless fight to remove its shame
And then the slump with its hunger march
That swept its way to Admiralty Arch.
The years of depression without any hope
With nothing to do but sit and mope
The look of misery in the children’s eyes
With nothing to offer but bread and lies.
The relief of war and work at last,
A future for those who had no past.
Must I lose it now, with scarce a taste
Of the honeyed joy in the desert waste.
Must the death knell come as my life began
To a forgotten link in the chain Of Man