Beckoned by a lingering tale,
Told countless times before
He held his hand across his heart,
And heard his words once more.
The silence in the morning air
Hung tightly like a shroud,
As gasps and cries before him
From mothers in the crowd.
So soon he would be fighting
A mask upon his face,
A weapon tucked against his soul
A soldier in his place.
The shrieking of a siren,
The sound of bullets pass,
He remembers what his father said
It only counts who’s last.
And now the only fear he keeps
The sudden fear of death,
The slamming of a bullet and
The touch of angels breath.
Staring at the sky above
His father’s eyes look back,
The fiery night is fading
As the ghost of life attacks.