The Soldier

A poem by me about, well, I guess I'm not supposed to have to tell you that.

A boy was raised most wholesomely to love his motherland,
So well that when the lad turned ten, he made a solemn vow,
That should there be a time to fight, a time to make a stand,
He’d be the first to join the cause, no if’s, but’s, why’s, or how’s.

As fate would have it, thankfully, when he had reached full height,
There was of course an enemy, a frightful one indeed,
That threatened not just life itself, but Culture, Hope, and Right,
His time had come; his day was here; his home was in great need.

As he had vowed, when first he could, he walked off to enlist,
To learn and train to fight and live, to kill and still feel numb,
To give up all that was his life, but then still to exist,
They forged of him a force for Good t’the sound of beating drums.

For this, his people cheered and swooned, in honor and in praise,
Before them, freshly uniformed, a hero proudly stood,
They recognized his sacrifice, in countless many ways,
Then held him close and wished him well for as long as they could.

Not long enough; it never is, but he was resolute,
Enemies were at the gates; there could be no objection,
He must fight for what he loves, so with a last salute,
Packed his bags and marched to war to shoot his own reflection.