I stood and I watched as a mother cried,
when she had heard that her son had died.
He didn’t die because he was sick,
or he didn’t die because he was in a wreck.
He died doing what he felt was right.
I watched a father try to hold back his tears,
His son had lived only a scant 19 years.
His son had died nine thousand miles away,
And what was there left for a father to say?
He got down on his knees and said a prayer,
His brave son knows his father did care.
I stood and watched as a little girl cried.
She didn’t understand why her brother had passed on;
Why he never again played with her on the lawn.
Looking at the little girl’s tears I knew,
That her big brother died fighting for you and me.
~ Author Unknown ~
In Your Honor
Unselfishly, you left your fathers and your mothers, You left behind your sisters and your brothers. Leaving your beloved children and wives, You put on hold, your dreams-your lives. On foreign soil, you found yourself planted To fight for those whose freedom you granted. Without your sacrifice, their cause would be lost But you carried onward, no matter the cost.
Many horrors you had endured and seen.
Many faces had haunted your dreams.
You cheered as your enemies littered the ground; You cried as your brothers fell all around. When it was over, you all came back home, Some were left with memories to face all alone; Some found themselves in the company of friends As their crosses cast shadows across the land.
Those who survived were forever scarred
Emotionally, physically, permanently marred. Those who did not now sleep eternally ‘Neath the ground they had given their lives to keep free. With a hand upon my heart, I feel The pride and respect; my reverence is revealed In the tears that now stream down my upturned face As our flag waves above you, in her glory and grace.
Freedom was the gift that you unselfishly gave Pain and death was the price that you ultimately paid. Every day, I give my utmost admiration.
To those who had fought to defend our nation.
~ Author Unknown ~
Somewhere in the night a quiet professional is waiting.
He does not care that he is tired.
That his hardened body is sleep deprived.
He is unbroken and vigilant in his task.
Somewhere this warrior is the final tripwire.
He has trained all his life in brutal conditions day and night.
This barren and desolate world is his home.
He lives and survives by an ancient Creed.
Somewhere this weapon of war will not ask nor give quarter.
He thrives on the mission and completing his objective.
That he allows the taste of fear to motivate his actions.
He is…the final option.
~ Mingo Kane ~
Author of “Scars of The Prophet”