A soldier boy was calling me
His faint cry heard all around
The air was still and silent
And dusty sand lay on the ground.
The far outstretched plains lay before me
Carried on for miles ahead.
And many a soldier's body could be seen
Although most of them lay dead.
But still a soldiers voice called out
Which i could faintly hear.
But with so many bodies strewn around
I wasn't sure of which cried out in his fear.
But still I kept on reassuring him
With only words that could not explain
How much I really feared for his life
And if in death he would die from pain.
Then I saw a movement
Just slightly but it didn't go unseen.
Now I could rescue our country's hero
And give back to him a life that'd been.
For we must protect our country men
Who in a war for their land have bravely fought.
A true hero who's life he gave willingly
In their fight for freedoms rights their land sought.
Copyright © Anna Sabrina Tate | Year Posted 2016
I'm walking out into the gorgeous summer day
and I feel nothing at all;
not the warmth of the sun,
the melodies of songbirds,
nor the cars driving by my street
who haven't the slightest clue of what just transpired
a mere twenty minutes ago.
Yeah, since the news came to me
not one lighthearted thought comes to mind.
I'm in the back of the store, doing dishes to pass the time
and I can't help but wander if anyone notices
the blooming roses on my cheeks.
They'd probably say something encouraging like
"Way to attack those dishes!".
Believe me it's not for efficiency's sake,
I'm MAD, and it just so happens to bring emphasis
to the saying "Use a little elbow grease".
Anymore and I might just a punch a hole through the plastic...
Yeah, since the news came to me
things became way too real.
I no longer felt like radiation that refuses to leave the atmosphere.
No I felt much more akin to a ticking time bomb
in the middle of the Sahara desert.
I could die at anytime
and it wouldn't matter what I was doing:
Sitting on the sofa, devouring a bag of Lays
and then passing out on salt overdose,
Or walking my dog because the weather was nice,
and then crossing paths with a baseball sized meteorite.
I try to stick to the bright side of things,
but the fact remains you died too soon, Tom.
I wonder what flashed through you head
just seconds before driving over that IED.
In a selfish way I'd like to think you thought of me
in those final moments, but I know that's silly.
If I was a piece in your day-to-day life
you would need a microscope
to even notice I was there at all.
As I sit here writing this
I recall the time we watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre,
on Halloween night in the old Stonehouse.
We thought that was gory then,
but it's most likely child's play to the stuff
you must have seen in the last three years.
The saddest thing of all for me
is something irrefutably petty,
but it comes to mind nonetheless.
You paid for my movie ticket
when we went and saw The Dark Knight.
I remember how sure and confident I was when I beamed
"I'll pay you back for this. Next time I see you!".
Well that ship has long since sailed.
Perhaps someday we'll meet again, mate,
but for now it's just a waiting game.
And today that feels like the game where nobody wins
it's just something we play...
NOTE: Two days ago I found out a good friend of mine died in Afghanistan. He was a soldier, and barely four years older than me...
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013
SOLDIER OF BATTLES.. Steve Hudson
It started, in silence, in infancy; the eyes look beyond the darkness
To understand the sounds of rage, echoes of misunderstanding,
The beginnings of normalcy wrought with disturbance,
Bereavement for the loss of innocence and the first lesson learned.
The lines in ground becoming clearer.
The only thing that ever came easy for me is warring,
Not because I chose the ground, but because it chose me.
Here is your sword; here is your battle,
The field is endless and there is no turning back,
So find your heart and find your place among the ranks
You sojourn with.
You tell one another it will be okay, and that we will pull through,
But no one really knows.
Its only after our first encounter and mortal blow that we find some
Courage to face another foe.
The welcomed peace endured for a season, then skies darken
On eminent splayed horizons and shadowy realms of spirit
You try to make sense of the next wave of terror,
Taunted and vexed at every turn.
Your enemies take form in shapes of, what is true?
Wrestling, pondering among bloody concepts and the why.
Wounds received through fearful encounters take shape of scars,
Scars take shape of trusted moments carried through
Onslaughts of deception.
Fallen men on smoldering ground, tormented by hounds of confusion.
This is how it started, but not how it ended for you see,
There was One we found in heated skirmish
Battle hardened and sure footed, the spear and shield wielded
With skillful hands, He inspired confidence in us all.
On days we found respite, He sat with us and taught strategies in warfare,
The secrets to winning the hearts and minds of defeated bretheren.
The certainty and comfort in His eyes, told stories of ancient victories held.
A kingly stature though plain to view, never considered Himself better
Then the lowliest man I knew.
We asked about some of the scars He brandished,
“They are scars received from the greatest of man’s struggles,” He said,
He got them while defending the poorest of souls.
It was then we understood, it was of us He spoke.
So now we gladly fight for this One who became the captain of our heart,
We’ve learned from the truths that have pierced our very souls,
our greatest cause and reason to be.
A soldier of battles was He…
Copyright © Angel fire | Year Posted 2012
Jetblack sunrise ashen, breastbone of the final dark.
My priest must leave to return to his ghostly parish.
Where traitors necks stretch down from moss to swamp.
I met the host of my companions, caught by first dawn’s watchfire dogs, waits for his beloved no more.
Oh, his Clara, I must console before chill sets too deep within bone and lung.
I will guard my deathbed promise to him, for to wipe her fair brow.
To finger her dark ringlets with ever my trigger torn hands.
Considering myself curious to love a West Indies fleshy maid.
The poked corporal would find me, on ghastly red steed to behead twice over for him, my host, and her my temptress Clara.
The belle of run through young soldiers.
Copyright © ANDREA TRAVIS | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
Eyes like the Aegean Sea,
Burn with a passion for life.
Like underwater volcanoes that erupt and make the sea rage.
Poseidon striking the sea floor.
With the intensity for experience,
Like the fire that smolders deep within your essence;
As if Hephaestus, God of Fire placed this potency within your heart.
Raven tresses frame the noble gentleman
Traveling along his journey like a silent Spartan: King Leonidas.
With Themis and Dike protecting him in battle; guiding his sword and shield.
Appointing him to be the leader of justice for mankind.
Like the regal Lion that sits upon his golden throne high in the Heavens for all to
see. Forever etched in the memories of men: so are you--endless;
Sitting with Hercules on Mount Olympus.
Celestial orbs safeguard the one whose utterances are as vast as the
And whose songs are as boundless as the sea itself.
Copyright © Angela Cox | Year Posted 2007
They marched past my lane warriors all
Smart green fatigues, mirthful soldiers tall,
Hats inclined, their buttons shining bright
Boots drumming into a warming light,
Young hearts harking to their nation’s call.
I laud mother’s who have given birth
To lads seeking a heavenly berth,
Spurning their tomorrows’ for others
Courting death for sake of their brothers,
They are but heavens’ glory on earth.
They melted into that day of June
Unsung heroes in a blazing noon,
Cheered by townsfolk bidding them goodbye
Packing them to battle fields to die,
Their wreaths being readied as festoon.
Their bravery in battles I read
On alien soil they lay and bled,
Spilling pure blood of mothers’ somewhere –
Whose tears of valour only pride can bear,
Their flesh ceded to the land of dead.
O’ History on your pages I smote
That heavens’ pen this bloodied note,
Of unsung heroes who gave their breath
Quartered their flesh at altars of death,
Patriots for whom praises it quote.
Copyright © Amar Agarwala | Year Posted 2017
a flag flown at half mast
a salute remembered that was the last
a star placed behind a glass
a quiet gathering to bury a lad
a moment of silence for those that past
the respect and honor for those
that died in the blast
a bugle playing Taps for what could not be
a flag folded and then passed
then the soldier lowered into the ground
feels that glory from all a round
his body lies at rest
but his spirit receives that which is best
to know that by his countrymen he was blessed
to a soldier that died in combat that is best
Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2008