A Soldier, Valiant and Brave

As I watch his wooden casket lowered into the ground, I can still hear enemy weapons firing round after round. Forever now, he'll lie in darkness; a terrible fate I lament. Weeping with malaise of guilt, in prayer my head is bent, trying to muffle my sobs so they escape without a sound. My warm tears are mingling with December's chilling rain. Memories cause my depression. Now I live with the pain of knowing it was me he saved. This should be my grave, for he died protecting me. He was a hero, valiantly brave. I whisper words of sorrow to him, in hymns of sad refrain. On a granite stone, his date of birth and death appear. My fingers trace them, as again my mind can clearly hear explosions of mortar shells and the morbid smell of blood before something heavy fell on me, landing with a thud. That deathly moment in life, will remain with me, I fear. My hands tremble as clouds above darken to nimbus gray. I fall to my knees in anguish, searching for words to convey the depth of gratitude that I owe him, but none can I find. I'll live with his death haunting me, to that I am resigned, as I recall this rainy day and the scent of flowers in array. Death is the outcome for many when men march to wars. I had no illusion that my service would leave me with scars, but nothing would've prepared my heart to feel so inept at thanking him who gave his life. What can I say except, "I leave this grave distraught; it should be mine, not yours." July 7, 2022 Tears of a Valiant Soldier Contest Sponsored by: Faraz Ajmal