The Soldier

                This poem was inspired by a group of people I know upon their return from over a year in Kuwait. I have been around military my entire life. As a child, when we went home to visit in West Virginia, I was always excited when my uncle Bill, the “real-live G.I. Joe” would be visiting as well. I’ve also had other uncles that served, as well as a fairly large number of friends and acquaintances. I admire them all for serving and helping to protect their friends and family. I could not imagine living in another country where doing something as simple as writing this would not be permitted. I recently found the notebook which the poem was originally written. Though the majority of the people I’ve mentioned are still with us, I felt it would be appropriate to post it on this Memorial Day. Thank you to all of the soldiers that have given everything, including their lives, to protect us, as well as those who are still here that have sacrificed their bodies, as well as those precious moments with family to keep us safe and free. I know this doesn’t compare to what you have done, but it is me doing what I do best in an attempt to show my appreciation for all that you have done. I hope you all enjoy it.

 

The Soldier

 

Surrounded by sand

Trying to bring the peace

To a foreign land

Alone at night as he makes his rounds

His tears evaporate before hitting the ground

He hears the familiar sounds

Far-off gunfire, airborne artillery

And exploding bombs

He barely even notices

For he’s been here too long

He keeps counting the days

Until he goes home

But, that is the moment

He will truly be alone

No one who shares

Or even understands his emotions

Or his sense of devotion

To his fellow soldiers

Who remain behind

He wears fatigues to camouflage his body

And a laugh to camouflage his fatigue

Soldiers’ bodies get smaller

Though no time to grieve

There’s a job to be done

On leave for r and r

He tries to convince himself

That he is having fun

Smokes and booze

To dull the pain

Loose women or his right hand

To melt the stress away

But it’s never enough

Because he knows it’s back to the shit

Where his only friends

Are his rifle and clip

And an itchy trigger finger

His worst enemies

Are the souls of fallen foes

Determined to linger

In the shadows of his mind

Until the day that he dies

Taps and folded flags

Signal the end of a life

And freedom for the spirit

Of an American hero