American veterans are dying at the hands of their own Veterans Administration. Our deployed combat warrior leaders are receiving pink slips – while they’re in the combat zone, but our government can’t find the moral courage to fire a Lois Lerner, or anyone in the federal government, period. A courageous combat veteran U.S. Marine sergeant sits wrongly incarcerated in a Mexican jail while an Army sergeant who deserted gets praised by the White House…At a time like this, I was sent a very touching poem that aptly describes the spirit of the warrior.
All of us who have “been there, done that and have the t-shirts” can identify with these words. And my hope and prayer is that at a time when it seems the sacrifices of my fellow warriors were for naught, the course is changed, and we find solace in the words of this poem.
Steadfast and Loyal.
HE THOUGHT HIMSELF A SOLDIER
By Doug Witney
There once was a boy who dreamt of glory, playing a soldier in a never-ending story
He made weapons from limbs at the base of a tree, killing the enemy before they could flee
He hid behind bunkers and charged under fire, into the enemy and line of bullets so dire
He was always the victor the people would come, cheering accolades that made him numb
The battles were many and victories not few, the boy found worth in his actions and grew
These dreams were shattered when he went to war, he found the trails were covered in gore
He engaged the enemy no matter the ground, fighting with strength in the cause he had found
But what of the injuries, the wounds that left scars, unlike the playground looking up at the stars
Where were the throngs that would raise him in the air, where were the damsels beautiful and fair?
Where were the flowers thrown from above that lay at his feet after thrown in love?
The soldier had fought as a man not a boy, the weapons were real, not that of a toy
The damsels are older and less to embrace, the cheers are all silenced behind doors not a trace
Where are the children that rushed to the rail, whose swords of justice are sheathed and now pale?
Where are the causes that brought forth the brave youth that raised their hands to defend the truth?
Where are the accolades that hid the fears, the cries of victory, the promise of freedom, the tears?
The eyes of the young man are now dimmed with age, memories of victory’s are as turning the page
The dreams of glory over time have all fled, the worst of mankind caused the light to be shed
But what of those taken in the course of the fight? What of the bodies buried deep in the night?
Who will remember the legions that fell, those that were willing to walk through hell?
What of the smiles, the hopes and the fears? What happened to friends who sought for the cheers?
The wrinkles are medals on a face in time, the cheering of victories are silenced and sublime
Instead of preparing for battle each day, he seeks peace and comfort in knowing whom to pray
The medals of valor encased in glass, with children whispering “who was he” as they pass
Where is the soldier who charged up the hill, afraid and yet willing to die and be still?
Nestled in a body that’s older and weak, the scars telling a story he was unable to speak
When he faces the heavens and reviews his life, will he recall the battles, the victories, the strife?
When he shows the Savior his wounds and stains, will the Savior show his own and take away the pains?
Are his sacrifices sufficient for a soldier who prayed? Who considered the glory yet wept and stayed?
Will the Savior remember the young man who fought and heal the heart he suffered and bought?
This is my hope and this is my peace; That the Savior will come and all wars will cease.