The restless man in the corner—
The one who graced my view,
Wore an evening shadow—
His eyes, a daunting blue.
Pale, dingy, Army green—
Starched and freshly pressed.
He wore the garment with graceful pride—
His medals clipped to his chest.
Faded memories of days since past
Flicker through his mind.
Beaten, battered, bag of bones—
They hurt, they slip, they grind.
One foot in front of the other—
He stumbles, failing to fall.
For it is the unspoken motto—
A soldier must stand tall.
No comments:
Post a Comment