Wednesday, March 7, 2012
On behalf of a grateful nation.
The magnolia winds sing a mournful whisper-hymn
As the black-clad harbinger of death and life
Speaks the strains of a sorrowful, bitter song
With cadence and familiarity,
Like greeting an old friend.
The teary-eyed widow
Looks on with silence on her lips, but none in her soul
As the flag draped coffin that held
Her life and joy
Stood at attention commanding her gaze;
A veritable vacuum of life-marrow.
As they take the starry, striped banner
Off the wooden tomb,
With gloved hands, and clicking heels
She sees his face as lively as ever.
They fold it sharply, and slide it into her hands
And she feels his lifeblood pumping through its stripes.
The firing squad awaits orders, and with a word
They hail his sacrifice with a hail of lead.
She jumps with each discharge,
Feeling more and more separated from him.
Looking on this scene from three stones over,
I remember when they brought me here.
The same teary silence surrounded the start of my rest.
The same barking guns released me from my prison of cold.
This is the cost.
Remember those who paid it.