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We are here

We are exhausted, emotionally drained, and heartbroken from the events we have viewed today.
We are attempting to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.

We are here

We will hold your hand when you need a moment of support.
We will always lend an ear to listen to anything that might be troubling you.
We will  be here when you need a shoulder to cry on.

We are here.

We will always  motivate you to reach your goal.
We will be there to cheer you on, and celebrate your successes.
We will always tell you jokes, and share a laugh or two.

We are here

We will care for your family and support them through this time.
We will remind you and them that you are not alone.
We will be here every step of the way.

We are here.

When you are able to leave us, we will be here waving at you excitedly as you drive away.
We will think of you and your family often.

We are here.

We will be here caring for other patients just like you.
We will work long hours, so they are successful just like you.
We will be here fighting until the end.
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2018
Today they are on the frontline
not because they are the leaders.
They know how to sneak their way up.
Silverflame Jan 2018
front line; left behind
a steady battle cry crawls
into the death drum
Matthew Harlovic Oct 2014
One for the man bunkered down in the trenches
sent in by his country as a henchman.
He's laying in the mud, praying for safety,
losing less blood than what's shed daily.
In this hazy hell, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine seeps in, easing the beaten.
And in no man's land, a man cries for mercy
but his cries are cut off by the hands of Murphy.
Early in the morning, he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, heading back to base camp.
There's a damper in the room, sunken like the marsh.
Friends have fallen, it's clearly marked.
And his heart aches but they can't be dead.
Nah, he sees them every time he lays down his head.
From time to time, he jolts up out of breath,
but he never felt more alive, when he was close to death.

It's not a sob story, no it's just old glory

Two for the man bunkered down by the park bench,
clutching a cup, praying for penance.
He's laying on cement, waiting for change,
and trying to stay dry from the god-**** rain.
In this day and age, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine tabs, tap in the defeated.
Lungs splitting, teeth gritting, he's wishing for mercy.
Two times the dose, he curses out Murphy.
Early in the morning he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, he heads back to PADs.
He grabs a tray, sits alone, and says grace
because there's no space open for the "nutcase".
Arm's race to golden gates, he dragged a debt.
He carried his country as heavy as regret.
He carries his friends, they dangle from his neck.
But the thing about memories is that you can't forget.

It's not a sob story, it's just old glory

© Matthew Harlovic
This is a hip hop song that I wrote and soon will be releasing on soundcloud.com/outtatune-1 You could argue that hip hop isn't poetry or you can read the story I wrote. For clarification, this story is about two different lives of the same man. The first, is of his time on the frontline. The second, is his time as a homeless Vietnam war veteran.

— The End —