The Colors Of Freedom

We face each other
The distance shorter with each day
Each cloaked in the stench of death

Cannon, silent but alert, line the hills
Their voice kills my brothers
Who like me, struggle to survive another day
Each believing God is on our side

Why did it come to this
The hate, the destruction, the finality
We are but men
We fight, we bleed, we weep

Freedom the cause, the destination
All men created equal
Die so we shall live

Terror my constant companion
The scent of fear abounds
I am not alone

I’ve seen too much
Fingers of death rip  us apart
Life’s fragments strewn across the fields

A small boy, hollow eyes
Old beyond his years
Stands with his drum

Like a dirge, the beat
Calls another soldier to the field
Calls another soul to heaven  

I am weary Lord
My body and mind both broken
I clutch the icy hand of despair

Will You grant another sunset
Or does my journey near its end
Which brother will I join upon the morrow

Originally published July 2013


About oldmainer

I am retired and live in southern Maine with my wife and two dogs. I started Oldmainer as an outlet for my occasional opinions and random observations, with some poetry thrown in. I welcome anyone that wants to kick back and join me here on the porch, exploring all the gifts we have been given and the memories collected. Thanks for stopping by.
This entry was posted in Death, Poetry, War and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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