Poems To Honor Veterans - November 11

He says he's leaving.
He'll be gone about a year.
He's headed off to fight the war,
And his time is drawing near.

I have no words of wisdom
To ease our aching hearts.
He'll be gone and I'll be here,
A thousand miles apart.

The danger that soldiers face,
He knows it all too well.
Still, he keeps our spirits up,
As our throats begin to swell.

The morning comes all too fast;
I'm not prepared at all,
Because I know there is a chance
My soldier won't come home.

My soldier is a strong man,
One that's brave and true.
He's not afraid of dying.
He fights for me and you.

So if you see a soldier,
Give him lots of praise.
Tell him that you're thankful,
You see the price we pay.

There are times we want to forget,
Like when troubles and sadness we've met,
But this day in November
We'll always remember
The heroes to whom we're in debt.

They were young, full of life and ambition,
But some dreams never reached their fruition.
With their lives put on hold,
They were daring and bold
And accomplished their ultimate mission.

Most returned when the battle had ended,
Some with wounds that would never be mended.
Many others did not,
Having died where they fought
While ensuring our home was defended.

But in spirit they'll always be here.
To our hearts they will always be near.
While our eyes may be wet,
We will never forget.
Let's remember each day of the year.

War is with us again on this day.
We have daughters and sons in the fray,
So let's wish them Godspeed
And the wisdom we'll need
So they'll never again go away.

The honor guard stands sentinel and stiff-backed.
Their tears silently fall, for their brotherhood was forged in combat.

One of their own will be laid to rest,
A tribute and honor given only to the best.

As his family gathers near,
His wife takes her place as she wipes away her tears.

At the front, soldiers offer a salute,
And the casket is draped in red white and blue.

The red stripes are made redder by the courage in which he served,
Defending our freedoms he fought to preserve.

The white is made more pure by his devotion to duty,
A bronze star he earned in the midst of the enemy's cruelty.

The blue field and the stars are our great land and our ideals that he defended,
Because of his love for the flag and what it represented.

In unison, the firing party begins to volley
A 21-gun salute, because a hero he embodied.

And then in this hallowed ground,
The melody of Taps begins to sound.

There isn't a dry eye in this place,
As emotion begins to overtake.

The honor bell rings its solemn toll,
And pride wells up within her soul.

The flag is folded one last time and placed in her lap,
Her lips quiver as she tries to hold the tears back.

The soldier says, "Ma'am, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation
For your loved one's service to our nation."

As the final prayer is spoken and he's lowered in the ground,
Two soldiers offer a final salute to this man who once stood so proud.

Driving home one day after hours of monotonous office work,
Saw a man sitting by the road; looked as one down on his luck.
Paid small notice to the figure; my lonely life was in a rut.
He was just another beggar holding out a shiny tin cup.

But something was rather uncharacteristic about this scene.
His old camouflaged fatigues were those of a U.S. marine.
No legs dangled from his wheelchair, but he sat tall, proud, and upright.
Many ribbons bore evidence of America's finest knight.

Walked up to the stranger - what was left of a man sitting there.
No others near, just us two, and the pall of pathos in the air.
His hair unkempt, a shaggy beard, he stared as each car would stop,
Lest he miss a coin or, pray, a bill into his cup one might drop.

In horror saw that the cup was held by an artificial hand.
An ear had been severed; thumb on other hand, one eye was blind.
He acknowledged my presence, tipped his military cap.
As he did, I observed scars occupied most of his scalp.

Asked how life brought him to this intersection on life's highway.
From boot camp was deployed to "play in the sand" in land over there.
"Sir," he said, "From high school my great desire was to serve my country.
Fighting with my buddies one night, my jeep hit unseen IED." 

"In flames and smoke I fought to breathe; felt that my life was slipping on.
Could barely hear, could scarcely see, and knew that my right arm was gone.
My head was bleeding profusely; could not feel my legs or left hand. 
I begged God to let me die on the sands of Afghanistan."

"The corpsman came with tears rolling down his face and with choking voice,
Said soldier, it's your legs, I have to amputate, I have no choice.
There are other injuries, got to rush; choppers are on our right,
You hang in there, Marine; I salute you, brave American knight."

The more he spoke, the colder the chills that ran up and down my spine.
Thoughtlessness and selfishness exposed a depravity of mind.
Self-pity, self-indulgence, resignation had poisoned my soul.
Changed by man with no legs, he stands ten feet tall on my honor roll.

Perhaps next time a soldier we meet at the mall or on the street,
Honor and salute those who served, even died, that we may live free.
Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, Navy or Marine, guards of freedom's light.
Grateful for those who wore the uniform, brave American knights.