Come and rest a while young soldier.
Lay down your arms and sleep.
Your bones have battled your blood
has battled your lungs have battled your kidneys.
Come, take refuge, and weep.
On days you feel like the lines in the sand
originate somewhere in the palms of your hands
and trace your every vein,
when you can't shake the shellshocked feeling
of blood cell battle cries,
before your eyes wander distant,
come dream a while of peace.
Even God rests his mind once a week.

And on the road back to your body
that looks less like home
than where you you've imagined yourself to be,
stash a few visions of tomorrow in your pockets.
Eat them like candy.
Wake with the taste of hope on your teeth.
That golden-ventricled soldier you left standing guard
has picked up his drum once again.
March on to the rhythm of his faithful resolve
with a the song of revolution on your lips.
Rise up young patriot.
Fight tooth and nail.
Wear your flag on your skin.
Take aim at anything that tells you
you were born to be less than free.
March on into the morning,
each step taken
seizing peace.