Homeless Hero
He stormed Omaha Beach in Normandy during the Second World War.
The old soldier knew all too well the din of battle and its heinous gore.
He'd fought his way through France ending up in the Battle of The Bulge.
He was hailed as a hero, but was loath his heroic deeds to divulge.
They pinned medals upon his breast - he suffered through the accolades,
And was honored by his hometown folks marching in their parades.
But there was something lacking - he was listless when among others.
He desperately missed his buddies - they'd become as close as brothers.
Through many restless nights he wrestled with demons from the past,
Tortured by bloody battlefield scenes and the thunder of cannon blast.
He was turned down by government agencies trying to relieve his plight,
And was met with unconcern at every turn - it seemed a hopeless fight.
He became addicted to the Devil's curse, the bottle, out of desperation.
Friends and family forsook him - he was headed for a life of devastation.
He was seen pushing an old grocery cart here and there about the town,
That held his meager belongings - he looked so pitiful and so worn-down.
The headlines read: "Veteran found dead beneath a blanket of snow!"
He'd sought shelter 'neath an overpass when it was twenty-one below.
He was buried with military honors while "Taps" sounded o'er his grave.
Come on America! Can't we do better than this for America's brave?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
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