My youngest daughter wrote this about a week or so ago. She's fifteen and very creative. She's taken after her grandfather who also writes poems.
This is not to glorify war, but to honor the spirit of the men and women who answer their country's call to duty.
Posted 11/11@11:00 AM in honor of the original Armistice Day
He’s A Soldier Now
A poem by Micala Michaud.
Dressing up when He was young,
He pretended he was the heroes of which they sung.
He led the charge and fought the battle.
He cared for naught of his mother's prattle.
He's a soldier now!
Now in high school, he's a football star.
His mother, his friends, all know he'll go far.
But when that plane hit those towers, he knew what to do.
He decided to enlist, and fight with the troops.
He's a soldier now.
Training in camp, he always worked hard.
"Sir, yes Sir!" was his only calling card.
When the call to arms arose,
He volunteered to be the first to go.
He's a soldier now.
In the heat of the sun, he would swelter and sweat
But under the pressure he never felt regret.
He stood by his decision and he stood tall.
When he was around, the task at hand seemed small.
He's a soldier now.
One day there rose smoke in the sky above the base.
He ran to the source and tears fell from his face.
The American flag was caught in a blaze, the building smoldering.
He ran into the flame, a burden himself shouldering.
He's a soldier now.
He rescued many men, and went in for the last.
As he did so, he remembered about his past,
About playing the hero and having the glory.
He never would have thought this would be his story.
He's a soldier now.
As fate would have it, he brought out the last man.
He collapsed on the ground, his breath coming in small spans.
There was a crowd around him, trying to save him.
But his eyes started to close, his senses fading around him.
In a last attempt, he saluted his fellow men.
With a smile on his lips, he closed his eyes completely.
An old soldier saluted back and said "May peace and rest take thee."
The tears fell, for the soldier had died.
The world was silent, but the wind heaved a sigh.
He was a soldier now.
At the funeral, there was no empty seat to be had.
Many men were there, their faces so sad.
His mother walked up to the cask, a single tear on her cheek.
Her voice didn't quiver as they heard her speak;
"You're a hero now."
Copyright 2009 by Micala Michaud, all rights reserved
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