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Nashoba Jul 2017
You vowed to protect our country, the lives of others worlds.
No fear, they teach you, live inside a shell.
You love just as others do, hidden only for a few to see.
Death is not to fear for you, as bravery allows none.
The battlefield is painful, especially for the young. Shocking as the reality is not of what they thought it was.
One out of many times you make it back to stateside. A few more of your brothers left behind, the images grow stronger staying with you forever.
This time I knew when you kissed me, something was different, you said you were never going back, that was long ago, those words were never spoken again.
The struggle to fit in. No peace for you. I knew I married a Solider, lived my life for you. Stood by your side, with every award of honor, every rank of promotion, so very proud of you.
Off you went to the other side of the world, just one more time. I will be here waiting for you till the end of time.
I removed the television, as the news of war continued to wear on me. All the loss of our troops, many friends and some were family.
Months had passed no words from you. I always worried about you.
A knock at the front door, on this cold winter night.
It was snowing heavily, thought crossed my mind, not to answer the door. The dogs didn't bark thus time making the quest even harder than the times before.
I slowly open the door to see what I dreaded many times before. The young officers standing straight and tall asked if they could come inside as the weather was very cold. I stepped back and let them in the door.
Silence seemed to last forever. My mind was already numb. As the officer handed me a package, he began to speak of you. Details were minimal, the words he spoke, I watched his face and lips move, but not hearing his words. A tear rolled from his eye as he said there was nothing I could do.
You are on a new journey now. Still fighting the wars. Lonesome in this house of ours. Now it's time for my tour. Maybe we will meet again on that long road of war..
She searches among the masses, their daughter in her hands. Her dress a fluffy pink, her hair in a head band. They have never spent this long apart, never dreamed the hurt it would cause in their heart. When she had watched him leave, her body willed away her tears. While others had cheered. She continued to watch for a shave of brown, a think of dark/light green.She waited for him in dark/gray jeans. The masses continued, her heart falling with every step. Had some note been unanswered? Had something been left unsaid. Her eyes come alight with love, her hands holding a tiny, pink dove. This is it. She thinks quietly to herself, * "I hope you like little-bit"
About a woman with her daughter. The solider coming home did not know she was pregnant or that she had given birth.
Chirayu Writer Jan 2016
Happy Republic Day ....
On This Auspicious day, Today we are celebrating
67th Republic Day of India, as a citizen & child of this motherland i promise to make this country more beautiful by the contribution in the right direction & to protect this country with a humanity, so writing a short letter by expressing my love for my country & I proud to be an Indian...
Good time to examine who we are and how we got here..
Still the flames & a myth of scents tricolour my heart with the name to remind always the Country India...
To express my beautiful India dedicating a letter to and for real life humans and real life hero of country
who shelter us Everyday, every second, every time and they are the real pride of the nation.....
Never born to die or also called Shelter Shadow of country.
I m young and my thoughts towards country is huge for the contribution I believe in work after thinking..
mark john junor Aug 2014
whom do you trust
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor....
what eyes see the meaning of the blind
what tongues listen...which lies
in the picturesque morning
beauty spins its deceptions with golden hued sunlight
weaves its hand puppet theatricals made of
fleeting wisps of smiles
kissing gestures weakly delivered
    solider,  sailor,  tinker,  tailor...
    they gather round the dead man
    some come to mourn the lost
    some come to rifle through his pockets
    some come to silently wait for their own fate
he sits in his worn chair
in a pool of lamplight
with a small hammer in hand
his spectacles on bridge of his nose
tapping tapping ever so gently the thin metal mask
the uniform of his mind shifts according to his lie
his tool is always the deceptions and misdirections
a sly smile...firm handshake...a signature style
'to whom do you trust' is a phrase that troubles him
her perfume lingers in the air
years have buried the cold war
but not its warriors
not their handiwork
     they dress the dead man for his burial
     with his decorations and platitudes
     with his shiny sword and neat uniform
     with honors they lay him
     with truths his secret they bury him
     why did he do whom did he answer
     to the tomb with his truths and lies
     to the tomb
he gathers the long coat
and the umbrella
walks out in london's chill spring night
to a bridge
and throws a small box into the river
long years after the cold war died
these men of shadows still play
these keepers of the gate still watch for hannibal and his horde
solider,  sailor,  tinker,  tailor
whom do you trust
(reference to John Le Carre's novel)
mark john junor Mar 2014
she sat on the rocking horse
wearing the soldiers coat he had thrown to her as
he rode away into the smoke and thunder of battle
she pulled it tight to her
like it was a part of him

she had come down from the
north towns to make a new life
in mysterious places with
romantic sounding names

but she lost her money in the river town
and fell in with some dark men
who tried to make her take up in the
***** house
but just as they lead her down
a fair haired lad looking handsome
in his soldiers uniform heard her cries
and saved her

the intensity of her beauty
and the sweetness of her heart
so enchanted him
he asked her to be his wife
he was so wonderful and handsome
she said yes

but a soldiers life called him
to battle and as he rode off
into the smoke and thunder
our precocious girl
sat on the rocking horse
and sang a sweet song
for he had rescued her
in every way a person can be saved
and she was going to be his wife

so careful young maidens
of these carefree wanderings you take
for it was a bright day for her
it is not allways such
take care is all i ask
for the world dose not allways
favour the fair

— The End —