He lifts a phantom hand up to his brow
Carrying weight from a score of long years.
Through blood of comrades dead, he crawled up sand
As Nazi guns menaced above his head.
All of twenty-one and off to a war
A captive of duty to freedom's hope.
He waded through the snow and ice of death
And liberated Auschwitz with disgust
For those who use the freedom of their power
To fuel such hate and force their brother's Hour.
He lost his life to a tyrants machine,
But it was freely given for a hope
That generations after him would cling
To the ghost of duty, and remember
The implications of freedom's high price.
This is my take on the prompt over at d-verse
This is also my first take at Iambic Pentameter blank verse.