Fauci had signed with his thumb
He thought that we were dumb
As he helped gain his wealth
while stealing our health
The Patriots will not succumb
DPAA Hymn for Fallen Soldiers
by Michael R. Burch
Sound the awesome cannons.
Pin medals to each breast.
Attention, honor guard!
Give them a hero’s rest.
Recite their names to the heavens
Till the stars acknowledge their kin.
Then let the land they defended
Gather them in again.
When I learned there’s an American military organization, the DPAA (Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency), that is still finding and bringing home the bodies of soldiers who died serving their country in World War II, after blubbering like a baby, I managed to eke out this poem. Keywords/Tags: Fallen, Soldiers, Heroes, Patriots, POWs, MIAs, Stars, honor, guard, medals, honor, tribute, memorial
You throw money at me
People smile and slap my back
Full-ride my boy!
You are set for life
I can't stuff dollar bills in broken vertebrae
Your filthy cash won't balm my burns
Nor wipe away my bullet scars
Your ******* money can't ease my mind
It isn't patchworked convalescence for wicked dreams
I would trade all of the money in the world
I would knock down this castle of pennies
To not be nickeled and dimed
For a quarter of the functionality
That my body once had
Sorry guys, I wrote this when I was medically retired from the U.S. Army. It still brings a tear to my eye thinking about the day they told me that my spine wasn't going to function correctly for the rest of my life.
It's that time of the Patriot's year
Postseason playoff games are in full gear
The road to the Superbowl, I cheer
But not for the big, bad grissly bear
That takes every opponent's fate without fear
That's right the big bad bear without peer
I'm snickering the Patriot's to cry a tear
Nothing would make me so happier, I swear
Fricken, dicken, bitchen Patriots beware
To see another Bostonian tea party, I glare
I do show respect at the Patriot's lair
Brady and Belicheck what a podded pair
Steady, stoic and simulcast, condescending I declare
You see a Patriots playoff loss is so rare
Their team profile is beyond compare
A well oiled machine that wear
Goliath close over David with regular fare
The road to this year's Superbowl Sunday, I say a prayer
That the other teams flag is flying patriotically in the air
I hope David crashes the Patriots party with flying colors. Edit-Today was the Super Bowl ... and guess not. The commercials and the pregame show were great and, oh, Brady with his sixth Super Bowl ring, which is very awesome.
A country of people,
Reaching for castles in the sky,
Breaking their arms on high,
Breaking bones and bodies in the process,
Dreamers sacrificing lives,
For dreams that smolder in their souls,
Even after men die,
Those dreams and embers,
Burn on, for all of history.
He was late to the war- the canons and guns have already started and the dust is settling in nice and cozy in his lungs.
He was falling apart- running across open fields with battle wounds surrounding every fallen solider he came across- there was so much blood.
He was crying on the inside but god forbid he showed those emotions on the open fields he and his brothers ran through.
He wasn't sure he would see his brothers and sisters all come out of this alive... he wasn't sure he would come out alive himself.
She was late to the war she was covered in dirt and oil from the ***** planes she helped gear up every long twelve plus hour shift.
She heard the engines start, she saw the wheels move and the ocean under the boat seemed more peaceful then the open space above.
She saw her wounded brothers and sisters being dragged out of whats left of the planes landing feeling their pain as blood smeared across the top deck.
She smelled the gas as the planes started moving towards the edge of the boat and she knew there wasn't time to think- only time to move.
They fought and some survived and some didn't make it back home to their families.
They fought tooth and nail, blood and skin- heart and soul.
They were wives and husbands, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, lovers and fighters.
They were more than a flag.
They were more than a country with a big name.
My country does not believe in equality.
It buys excuses for elitism and misogyny.
It covers up its greed and its brutality
And makes up ugly labels for decency.
My country sings its songs about freedom
But often denies it to those who need some.
It celebrates our heritage with beer and ***
And marches to the beat of a fascist drum.
My country was founded by nice words
Some of the finest man has ever heard.
Then shows the intelligence of a cattle herd;
And the social conscience of rotted bean curd.
My country labors under some illusions
That contribute to a national delusion
That fame will ultimately cure all contusions
And eradicate the effects of collusion.
My country thinks pretty people are sacrosanct
So, they let the beautiful load up their piggy bank.
We see reverence for the most egregious crank,
And have many of our countrymen to thank.
My country isn’t very good at followup.
It adopted the behavior of an untrained pup.
As long as it has its favorite pablum to sup
It will drink any poison that’s in their cup.
My country is this way, has been for too long
And if you disagree with the words of my song
Write your own treatise to try to prove me wrong.
For now I will keep on banging this protest gong.