Rising before me, are the graves,.. like the stars
Embracing the light, while reflecting the moon
The fields, vast and silent, ... never ending, the valiant
Of those who had fallen, never knowing how far
Some names forgotten, and some never known
Crosses that grow from the wet grass below me
I have lost count, as my eyes seek horizons
Reflecting on lives of the soldiers, unknown
Deeply I'm falling without knowing how far
Into the depths of the fields that have drawn me
Into reflection and into the questions
Tossed into the sky, without answers to why
My eyes can't believe all the sadness before me
I have lost count and my heart seeks horizons
Reflecting the reason, seeking answers, unknown
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
He wrapped his arms around me
Never wanting to let go
I gently whispered in his ear
Daddy, when you coming home?
He said I'm off to battle today
To heal the wounded soldiers cries.
I don't know when or if I'll be back
The tears began to flood my eyes.
As father walked away
His smile, it did gleam.
His final words to me
Became but a nightmare within a dream.
The bomb rang out
Through the desert air.
When the dust did settle
They found father there.
The soldiers stood at attention
They saluted their brother goodbye,
And the eagle spread its wings
As a true American soldier, had died.
Copyright © Bobby Snyder III | Year Posted 2016
One Toy Soldier
Little toy soldiers are all put away
Training is over for this time of day.
Where do these little boys go now to play?
Away from their home to die in the fray.
Little toy weapons are no longer there
But boxed in attics by mothers with care--
Where keepsakes still hold a lock of his hair--
While rockets and missles challenge his fare.
Little toy bad guys and little toy good
Haze in the distance when misunderstood.
Where fall the lilies on long crates of wood
And each gave their all--as good soldiers should...
Little toy soldiers are coming back home...
Mothers are weeping, laments all alone
Where flags lie folded--the gift of Shalom...
As the long box is lowered...'neath the loam
One little toy soldier is placed on the top
Remembering All--so that None be Forgot.
Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012
44 DROPS OF BLOOD
by Coui Kim MinSu JA
Silence has consumed my lonesome soul
Beneath the sheets of my darkest fall
I broke my armor, my helmet and my sword
I lost the battle after I gave my all.
These hostile MOROns speak the language of war
Treachery is their dialect, how nasty they are!
They house the villains, they feed the crooks
Yet they always call their god, every time they shoot.
I lost my sight though not am I blind,
Revenge is the light, the only light i find
My wrath and my curse are constantly roaring
Within my heart I can no longer contain.
With these 44 drops of blood I solemnly swear
Doom are these wicked, for gone are my fears
Now, I raise this peaceful banner and flip it up RED
Cause I thirst and hunger for all of their HEADS.
Copyright © Jasper Abcede | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.
Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.
Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.
At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.
Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.
After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.
A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.
Copyright © Dalton A. J. Hunkler | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
laying in your bed
the permanent ring in the
of your blue jeans
i’m missing you already
Copyright © rachel blake | Year Posted 2013
They sent him to serve without regarding his life
Voting for redemption instead of his kid and wife
He treads within mazes and shadows of a lost city
Those willing to die to save their family dignity
Fighting back against hateful ignorances believed
What anyone will gain is only how it is perceived
Copyright © ... Gigno | Year Posted 2012
An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war
A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying
Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
long life, his number one ambition
As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed
The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late
Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right
Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right
Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
A wintry night,
Heavens covered in a white hue,
All life came to a frozen still,
A soldier took the hand of his beloved,
Gazing deeply into her eyes he felt solace,
Unwilling to part he embraces her like it was his last,
For the battle awaits, his loyalty and skills put to task,
His last words to her before he proceeded to hell,
" Ill think of you amidst the hell-fire of war,
The love we share and the journey we travelled so far,
The enemy rages on to enslave and slaughter,
I shall fight them with all my might,
to purge them darkness and bring forth the light " ,
Overwhelming sadness and longing,
She wept and felt a void like never before,
Promising to once again before reunited,
She bid farewell to he beloved,
Months passed and there was a knock on her door,
His brother in arms stood in silence and respect,
He had come to deliver the final letter from her beloved,
He told her that her beloved fought the war with fierce determination,
Braved unfathomable evil designs of the enemy war machine,
He succumbed to a bullet in the heart,
I held his hands and his glow was diminishing,
I saw pride in his eyes that he had given his life for his nation,
I felt has sadness that he could not keep his promise to you.
As i whispered a final prayer to usher him into the gates of heaven,
He held a picture of you firmly in his grasp,
When the light from his eyes faded , a gentle smile remained,
He fought for the freedom that now covers our land,
He knew deep in his soul and heart,
that one day you both would meet again,
And walk together in the promised land.
Copyright © Chandrasekar Singaram | Year Posted 2016
Published by Poetry Explosion of PA
In Loving Memory of my Dad, Peter J. Mariotti
He left this world on May 9, 2011. I miss him so.
50 Years-Korean War
Dad, you were one of the foot soldiers,
When the Korean War began,
You were among the many to fight
In this foreign land,
You went bravely into battle,
Because our country told you to go,
You didn’t ask any questions
You just went to fight the foe,
North Korea was Communist,
South Korea was not,
The country had been split
After World War II,
Now American boys were fighting
On Korean soil,
The South Koreans needed help from
The Red, White and Blue
Dad, you were a hero,
You served our country well,
Now after 50 years
You finally were able to tell,
The story of your war
And the misery you saw,
The Korean War had been forgotten
But now at long last,
It will be remembered,
As an important part of our past.
Celine Rose Mariotti
Copyright © Celine Rose Mariotti | Year Posted 2013
He Picks up his son looks into his eyes,
and says I love you. Gives His wife a hug
goodbye as he tries to hold the tears back.
He waves goodbye as he slowly turns
away not knowing if this will be the last
time he ever sees them again.
His boots are spit shined. His uniformed
pressed. His hair is short and his heart is
He wasn't drafted he chose to fight for our
freedoms. His father served in Vietnam his
grandfather served in the Korean war. He
felt a duty to serve like many other young
brave American men.
He wants to make a difference in this
crazy world. Wanting it better for his son
than he had.
His salary barely makes ends meet these
days. The benefits are Post Traumatic
Syndrome or even worst, loss of life.
Heart ache and pain, everlasting depressing
memories and loss of comrades.
Sometimes we don't recognize he is out
there everyday risking his life every minute
of the day. We are so busy watching Jeopardy,
or a National football game, or baseball game.
Depending on the season. How often during
the day do we think of those poor souls in
harms way. Be honest with yourselves.
These men and woman deserve much,
much more then what they are getting. We
owe them everything.
Look at the men that came back from Vietnam
how we turn our backs on them, when they
suffer from agent orange. Not only did they
suffer but their children as well. Our
own government did this. They used them,
abused them, and did not take responsibility
for their serious ailments.
Why would anyone want to serve. Knowing
they are just a pawn, or a number that they
use for their own ajenda. They the politicians
cronies profit from war. Whether it is the sale
of weapons or a countries natural resources
like oil that they take over the country for.
Missiles of mass destruction what a lie by
Bush. Then when he got caught lying about it,
he blamed it on terrorist. Yes a man in cave
against the mighty United States. They must
think were fools to believe this ruse.
The trillions of dollars they spend on their
wars could be spent on the Homeless and
education for the future of your children.
Creating jobs for the jobless. Feeding the
hungry, taking care of the poor. Helping our
soldiers when they come back. On and on.
I give thanks to our men and women that
are our heroes. They are our soldiers.
God bless them all.
9/22/2015 Contest sponsored by Edward Ebbs
Copyright © michael tor | Year Posted 2015
together with our broken hearts
a little life within our hands
and heavy burdens on our backs
you and i, we used to laugh
together, when the rain would fall
and when it seemed and felt like all
and everything was going wrong
you and i, we used to cry
together, we used to play
and pull the strings of life away
and then back to us again
you and i, we were one
little soldier on the guard
let me stand by you
hold on tightly to my hand
you know my love is true
i will walk you home tonight
dont cry, everything's alright
but life's a cruel and painful game
and things are so quick to change
and it feels so hard and strange
to go on without you
i feel so lone and lost inside
long nights i have cried and cried
please tell me how can i
go on without you
its so hard to believe
you're no longer here by me
and i have tried everything
but i cant go on without you
and yet these days carry on
and before long a year has gone
ill wake up to another dawn
my friend, without you
little soldier on the guard
let me stand by you
hold on tightly to my hand
you know my love is true
and if somehow we come to part
you'll always be within my heart
little soldier, my dear friend
11 years since you've been dead
i watch these seasons come and go
in my memories you live on
Copyright © Emanuela T. | Year Posted 2007
The grass is wet,
I must sit down, ..........
be close to you....
But, I don't care...the dew won't kill me...
But, what of tears? They can.......they do
and I will drown..........
I'll sit here in the cool, damp grass, and write to you
I'll write to you, .... as if you'll see it,....
As if you'll know my words for you
What else to do?....What else to do?
It's all so quiet now, so still and calm
Except for sparrows,..... and their songs
Can you hear,.... from where you are?
If they sing in silent chorus, but you can't hear it,
Tell me, tell me.......how to bear it?
I write this letter....
Where to send it?
Their eulogies began and ended,
They linger in the heartless wind
It's over now, how can it be?
It's lonely now, beneath the trees...
They've all gone home, we're here alone
They've carved your name into the stone
You lie here with me, but I'm so cold.
You promised to come back to hold me
You told me when we said goodbye...
You told me that you would survive
Will I? Will I?
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
(My Uncle: Good Morning, Apocalypse Now)
My uncle doesn't speak much
about Vietnam or the stuff
he witnessed when he
was just a boy. See,
he likes to drive the back roads fast
and honk at random cars that pass.
His friendly gestures always lead to how
he grew up compared to kids now.
Jumping and racing trains on the tracks
became dodging bullets and carrying his buddy on his back.
The marshes and dirt valleys here
became the forests and trenches of the military frontier.
Last year, my sister donned his jacket
a fatigued fatigue that hung in his closet.
In color and memory darkened,
kept out of sight for fear it would harken
the PTSD he's stuggled to avoid.
He saw his brothers, young like him
to Vietnam succumb
while on American soil
and he promised he would never speak,
for fear his stomach would coil,
when remembering rice - a dish he no longer enjoys.
And there's no orange on his clothes to remind him of the agent that destroyed.
When he speaks a calm
"Good morning", I wonder if he's thinking of Vietnam
or if he knows
that I admire his strength and
bravery and how
he continually fights against
the "Apocalypse Now".
Copyright © Rachel Couvillon | Year Posted 2013
A soldier has just gone home.
This evil world no more to roam.
It wasn't for want of prayers,
But all is known to our heavenly father>
A soldier has just finished her fight.
On the eagles' wings she has taken her flight.
No more pain or worry of any kind,
Her eternal rest she has gone to find.
A saint has just found her rest,
Her memory is forever blest.
Although all the loved ones are grieving,
but God, His precious daughter receiving.
Copyright © Modupe Sefunmi | Year Posted 2013
Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
our intestines and the blankets
cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses
we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered
the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
in the form of gangrene, the rats
make themselves at home feasting upon the rotten
flesh of fallen comrades while the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone
then comes the symphony of artillery
the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
the mighty foot soldiers, and
the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas
the trenches become our unwanted love
and unholiest of homes, "the tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us
constantly by our commanders but on the contrary
these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
the illusion of life and the irony of war.....
Copyright © Antonio Ball | Year Posted 2015
Blankets the coast.
Triggers the most
An encore to those
Just hearty enough
To make a life on The Rock.
And to answer the call,
Between stone cracks,
A garden was planted
Before the Gardener came
The coast was a love-lettered painting,
A bouquet to the sun,
Orange, red, and yellow flattery
Through living imitation.
"Seek ye first the kingdom of God,"
Said the sign
On the gate
At the edge of St Johns.
"But I think I've finally found it,"
Said the man
With his too sharp sheers
- Everyone's front lawn
Of what united
Them for two score years.
Bloody hands dropping pedals on his way to the shore,
"Don't worry," said the man,
"I don't want to come back,
With any luck," he said again,
"I think this should be enough."
As he placed in the arrangement
A note that read,
Bitte fragen Sie nicht
100 years ago, July 1st, 1916, the entire Newfoundland and Labrador regiment was killed at Beaumont-Hamel, during the Battle of the Somme in World War I. Of 780, only 68 reported for roll-call the next day.
After 40 some years of having no military of their own, they had mustered up a unit of volunteers to support the war effort. 90% of them never made it through their first engagement.
Canada Day isn't just about celebrating.
Copyright © Cameron Boyd | Year Posted 2016
Might this be a wonder,
Might this be a sunder,
Might this be the blocker,
Might this be the warder,
Might there be a plunder,
Might it pass the border,
Might there be a dweller,
Might they be lodgers,
Should they be squatters,
Should they be trespassers...
Might they squander,
Might it scatter,
Might this be a sputter,
Might there be a clutter,
Moght there be to many clusters,
Might this be the controller
Mightit get power...?
Might these be handlers,
Might these be forcers,
Might these be the squashers,
Might these be the breakers,
Breaking some of the order...
Might this be a night,
Going to a wretched midnight,
Coming from a raging twilight,
Until these be ended, throughout nighttime,
Later waking from our bedtime,
Maybe dying to see the morning light,
Might this be happening tonight...?
Might there be a knight,
Might there be a fight,
Waiting for a shining might,
Coming from some rainbow's light,
coming slight from the nighttime,
With some waiting for their fly...
Might these fight the ghouls,
Might they get to their goal,
Might this vanish some ghosts,
Whom want all of our souls...
Might this be other things,
Might these be the lives of life,
With some asking, might these be I...?
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
I’m proud of the man in front of me
Dressed in his ACUs
But i miss the guy you use to be
Blue Jeans and your boots.
I miss the way you drive your truck
i miss the sweet soft stares.
I miss the man you use to be
I’m not sure hes still there
Copyright © rachel blake | Year Posted 2013
THE LAST POST.............
Six soldiers bear a coffin,
Of a comrade killed in war.
The Union flag draped over him,
A hero to us all.
This soldier killed in battle,
In a conflict overseas.
A man who fought for his beliefs,
While defending you and me.
To the families of these soldiers,
Of my thanks I give to you.
The bravery that they have shown,
Such courage is shown by few.
A military burial, a volley of shots,
Then a flag lifted up from its host.
And as we lay him down to sleep,
A bugler then plays the last post.
God bless you our brave British soldier,
For this country still owes you a debt.
You gave up your life for our freedom,
This ex soldier will never forget.
.............Rest in peace...............
Copyright © Leighton Rees | Year Posted 2012
M. I. A. ( Missing In Action )
The date was nineteen and sixty nine,
A soldier wrote a girl named Caroline,
The VC were starting to close in,
He wasn't sure when he could write again.
But there was something he had to say.
Three words he should have said before this day.
He poured out his heart on every line,
Then finished with "I love you Caroline".
The letter arrived one winter's day,
Weeks after she heard he was MIA.
And her tears stained the page as she read,
For in her heart she knew that he was dead.
He had disappeared without a trace;
Lost somewhere in that God forsaken place.
The Army said he might not be found,
So an empty box was placed in the ground.
Then she tried to move on with her life,
And she became a mother and a wife.
But each year she visited his tomb,
Around the time the flowers were in bloom.
This went on for nearly thirty years;
Yet no amount of time could dry her tears.
She would pray beside his empty grave:
"How could this be the fate of one so brave?"
Then one day, in nineteen ninety nine,
A phone call sent a shiver down her spine.
While breaking ground just south of Hung Yen,
Some workers found the bones of seven men.
One of those men was her soldier boy,
And after he was shipped back from Hanoi,
They honored each MIA who served,
Then buried him the way that he deserved.
If you call America your home,
From Tampa to Oahu and to Nome.
Don't forget the men still MIA.
And pray to God that they come home one day.
Copyright © Mark Spencer | Year Posted 2011
In a bright, hot blue bath of air
The waning day's thick mantle spreads.
Palms rear their green, effulgent heads;
Muezzins call the flocks to prayer.
The sun, in this mid-eastern place,
Is round, and dusty gold, and strange.
If I knew methods to exchange
This place for glimpses of your face,
I'd trade exile in dry Afghanistan
For freedom in a tamer land.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
Where do I begin?
I got so much on my mind
Sometimes I wonder where we stand
But my emotions is bout to explode
Like a volcano when its eruption
And your name came in mind
When it came to reach out for a hand
I’m overseas fighting
With mortars flying over my head
Bullets traveling toward my frame
Fighting for something I don’t understand
I’m crying cause I need help
And here I don’t have a friend
Today I am alive
But tomorrow I might be dead
And man with this
Always on my mind
Got me scared for the fact
I don’t know if I’m running out of time
Usually I call you
But I have to write this on a line
Cause my voice is so shaky
I can’t say a word but jus cry
To me you’re like a brother
You are always by my side
That’s why I’m writing you
Even though I feel shy
You always seen me tough
But never seen my sad side
I hate that I feel like this
Even though I don’t know why
And I think you are the only person
That can really calm me down
Even though in my eyes
I see death all around
Blood on the sand
Body parts on the ground
Sometimes I think to myself
How do I stay alive living with a frown?
But knowing you’re here for me
Is enough to hold me down
Jus writing this to you
Is making me feel better right now
One day we’ll sit down and talk
And on my face you’ll put a smile
But I hope that day comes
Before I’m the next dead person found
Copyright © Travis Johnson | Year Posted 2013
The brave young soldier had served his tour in the dreadful battle,
Midst the deafening roar of cannon and the muskets' constant rattle!
He'd spent months in the trenches in the cold, the mud and gore,
And had seen his valiant brothers fall and learned the futility of war.
He'd finished his tour of duty and was heading home to take his rest.
Comrades escorted him to the plane saying, "Buddy, you did your very best!"
Alas, he had fallen and was placed aboard a C-130 known as the "Angel Flight".
In a casket he lay in the dimmed cargo space as they sped on through the night.
He had fought heroically with members of his platoon at his side.
He had taken the solemn oath to serve his country with unabashed pride.
Sadly, he would not hear 'welcome home' by his kin with great elation,
Nor be embraced with longing arms or hear the praise of a grateful nation.
No! He heard angelic choirs and God's tender welcome to his eternal home,
As he took his final bourne on high through that vast celestial dome.
God said, "Welcome home, Soldier! May I present you with this crown!
You have served Me and My people with honor and great renown!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
It's been three days since you've passed away
There's a secret box under my bed
With every letter you sent me
When you were last here
You gave me a bouquet of lilies
They're my favorite flowers
Dried up in a vase
Because it would kill me
To throw them away
I have every plane ticket you ever got
Next to your dog tags where your name's engraved
Right next to a picture with your smiling face
One day I'll see my traveling soldier again
Until then I have the memories and the pictures
And the pleasure of being yours
And I'm pleased with the time you spent in my life
Copyright © Kyleigh Henderson | Year Posted 2016
fallen unsung hero
without a name
Tribute To Our
Thanks For Serving
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2008
At four years old she kissed him goodbye
In his splendid soldier’s uniform
She was saddened to see her mother cry
As he set off for a land that’s foreign
She didn’t understand the reasons
Why her Daddy had to go
She only knew it was a soldier’s duty
Because her Daddy had told her so
By five years old she had forgotten his smell
From the after-shave when he gave her a kiss
She had gotten used to life without Dad
But by her mother, every day he was missed
Today her father came home
Though it wasn’t a day full of smiles
He would be traveling in a wooden box
Across the many miles
Six soldiers carried him off of the plane
With an American flag draped over the top
She watched the tears flow from Mommy’s eyes
As if they’d never stop
She stood up and she saluted them
The way her Daddy had shown
Not completely cognizant
Of the eternity of his new home
When Daddies of little children
Die for some vague political cause
Every living human being
Should stop in thoughtful pause
In wars there are no winners
Just some who loose much more
Victory has hollow meaning
When Daddy dies when you are four
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2011
The soldier, the war, and I
Today I am home and thinking to my self..
What would I be doing if I had a soldier coming home to me and my family?
What would I be doing if I was the soldier looking to going home to my family?
And then, I look back at all the years passed since this last war..
Many children have grown to become men, Others have grown to become soldiers
Where would I be if I had gone to the war and fought for my country?
Where would I be if I had gone and came back safely?
Where would I be if I had not gone at all because I was not qualified to go?
Would I be with my family or in a hospital injured?
Would I be standing proud, and laughing with my friends and family?
Or would I be dead, as I never got to come back?
Today I am home and thinking to myself..
Thinking of all of those brave soldiers, children still
Who are out there, suffering.. And some ill
Today I am home and thinking to myself..
How many woman are crying because of their gone loved ones
How many men are crying for their loved and missed ones
How many children are fatherless or motherless, or both!
And at the end I stop. I think no more..
I am grateful for the things I have,
I am grateful for the people who surround me...
And I am sure grateful to never have gone to a war; yet,
I sure appreciate the thoughts, courage, life, and suffering
Of all of those who have been touched by it.
Copyright © Thoubert Larus | Year Posted 2011
In a war torn land
Out in the desert sand
Lies a soldier in wait
Not knowing his fate
He thinks about his home
About this desert land he'd roam
About his life and the freedom he's had
This war and the fighting which makes him sad
It was a job he chose you see
A soldier is what he wanted to be
Until he got to this desert land
Now waiting for the enemy, the other man
Destruction and chaos all around
Gunshot and explosions do resound
He wondered what he got himself in
His nerves seem to be shedding thin
But who would fight if he did not
Who would be posted in this hot spot
His only dream is to survive
Until another brigade arrives
Out in this barren land
Lying in the desert sand
Whether this war is right or wrong
Lying here, this soldier must stay strong
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2007
In his heart he holds courage,
In his hands he holds our lives.
A Brave Soldier he may be, but only at the the front lines.
He is weaken by all the death,
He is haunted by there souls.
For he knows in this battle, hatred rules one's goal.
He does not fight for hatred,
He fights for there lives instead.
Cause he knows hatred has no value, when so many are dead.
As he lays in death, knowing it will come,
He glances at the sky and makes peace with all he's done.
For on the battlefield, life is as precious as gold.
And one must always choose should it be friend or foe?
He closes his eyes and hopes in his death no more victims will fall.
But, in his heart he knows his country one day will call.
For A Brave Soldier to take the front line and give there his life as he,
He just hopes all are content knowing A Brave Soldier he will always be.
Copyright © Rachel Fogle | Year Posted 2006