Spoilt from birth,
Pampered and needy,
Being the spare an inherited curse,
Leading to actions often quite seedy.

Great aunt Margaret blazing the trail
Questionable choices aplenty,
Drugs and alcohol steering her sail
A life of regrets, vacuous and empty.

Followed by Andrew possessing of valor
But aimless and vain in every respect,
His choices a mess, cause of great clamor,
So by way of example what to expect?

As to his mother, that heart-shearing tale,
The lovely Diana Princess of Tears,
A tragic figure determined yet frail,
The ultimate victim to her own inner fears.

But a glass half empty is a mindset of sorts,
Blindly ungrateful to privileges bestowed,
Clouding his mind with nothing but torts,
Leading the spiral down a winding dark road.

We the onlookers can only but hope
That time and experience will yet prove the key,
Shielding his fall from that slippery *****,
Grasping the change which for now he can't see.

Tired...
My eyes burn,
My lungs ache...
The sun wakes me
Through the
Windows.

Dress myself
Wash my face,
It's time to endure
Another day...

Another rush
At the restaurant,
Put on a smile,
And pretend it's
Okay...

But I can't do this
For much longer,
My longest day
Is Sunday...

Sing a song to entertain,
as we sit around a little fire.

We are small, our fire smaller,
so we think we know,
we trust our science,
as taught,
were we, to test a known,
religiously, to prove,
all things.

At once, we think, if it were me,
alone, thinking we may, we might
disintegrate as fuel in fire,
becoming beings we are,
under your skin,
in your sense of wedom,
happening in ever for ever's own sake.

May she mark her moments of miracles. For it won't be but momentarily she'll soon forget such wonderous moments and she'll be buried in her daily duties, dilly dallying dutifully till the deathbed does she dwell on such matters again to sit in such shame sorrowfully understanding the passing of her muliebrity.

Lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely!
She said I am so lonely, lonely, lonely,
I  could die.
My mouth was dry,
There ain't sweetness here in paradise

Baby, Baby, baby, baby!
She said baby, baby, baby,
I  could die.
My mouth was dry,
But there ain't sweetness here in paradise.

Love, love, love, love!
Love, love, love,
I kissed you hard,
My mouth's was dry,
There ain't sweetness here in paradise.

I, Too, Sing America (and did so in my diapers!)
by Michael R. Burch

I, too, served my country,
first as a tyke, then as a toddler, later as a rambunctious boy,
growing up on military bases around the world,
making friends only to leave them,
saluting the flag through veils of tears,
time and time again ...

In defense of my country,
I too did my awesome duty –
cursing the Communists,
confronting Them in backyard battles where They slunk around disguised as my sniggling Sisters,
while always demonstrating the immense courage
to start my small life over and over again
whenever Uncle Sam called ...

Building and rebuilding my shattered psyche,
such as it was,
dealing with PTSD (preschool traumatic stress disorder)
without the adornments of medals, ribbons or epaulets,
serving without pay,
following my father’s gruffly barked orders,
however ill-advised ...

A true warrior!

Will you salute me?

I hope my “small” attempt at humor will help readers remember the sacrifices made by the spouses, children and extended families of our valiant servicemen and women. It was not easy making friends only to lose them, time and time again, as I grew up a “military brat” on American air bases around the globe. I really did make sacrifices for my country, while winning every battle against the “communists” in our back yard.

Keywords/Tags: Memorial Day, military brat, service, war, duty, honor, heroism, soldiers, army, navy, air force, marines

Dear comrade,
Maybe you are achieving medals for your victory
but, actually you are achieving our hearts for your bravery...