Carry on my Wayward Soldier
Light the fire that’s in your hands
Scar the tissue that’s so fresh
Wave the knife in disbelieving faces
Lie down here, my Wayward Soldier
Rest your eyes
Calm your fears
Whisper the words that haunt your dreams
Kick the dust, my Wayward Soldier
From your boots that lingers still
Crop your hair and tie the strings
Stand up tall and jut your chin
Hush your screams, my Wayward Soldier
Bandage knuckles that bleed so free
Light that cigarette put to your lips
Collapse in fatigue upon the floor
Stray your eyes, my Wayward Soldier
Dry the tears that stain your face
Have no remorse for duty set
Holster your gun
Recite your mission, my Wayward Soldier
Breathe in deep the air that stings
Trade your hopes for darker thoughts
Step away from your dead comrade
Lift your arms, my Wayward Soldier
Fall onto knees that quiver quickly
Trace the sand, a map surrounding
Shoot to kill and wonder not
Come home to me, my Wayward Soldier
To sleep beside the one so dear
Forget the blood that seeps into night
And use the fingers you used to fight
God is not here, my Wayward Soldier
Though life, it is, just down the stairs
Pass on your strength to children borne
To live and die, by Honor’s Code.
“War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things.
The decayed and degraded state of moral and
patriotic-feeling which thinks that nothing is worth
war, is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more
important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free…Unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.”
-John Stewart Mill-
|
Submission Name: Wayward Soldier
