His battles now are over, his earthly struggles done.
We place him in a body bag; a Mother’s only son.
We do not speak of “Sacrifice” or patriotic pap.
Such thoughts deserted long before our third tour in Iraq.
Some will say our eyes are hard that will not shed a tear
For the promise of his future that abruptly ended here.

We who serve know differently; Our wounds you cannot see.
His helmet, gun and empty boots remind us of his Calvary.
So thank him for his service; spare us the other crap.
Just play the anthem for doomed youth;


a simple tune called Taps.