There is a soldier in a distant land,
Who knows well what patriotism means.
In his foxhole,
His lungs are parched in the mid-day heat,
And at night,
He shivers uncontrollably in the chill,
Offering all,
On behalf of his countrymen.
In his helmet,
Protected by plastic,
And tucked above the suspension
That holds it in place,
Are pictures,
Of a wife beloved,
Beautiful in his eyes,
So much so that his heart aches
Beneath the Kevlar and flesh,
With the knowledge of the distance
That divides them.
There too are his children,
Twin boys that he has never held,
And has seen only in these photos,
In Osh-Kosh bibs of powdered blue.

He has held his brothers
As they have taken their final breaths,
And he has given them his own,
Warmed and moistened within him;
Futile attempts to restore life,
In bloodied forms where it can no longer reside.
At war
He has become a man,
But is now scarred
By the evil that he has seen,
A palpable sensation,
Detected in the dull black eyes,
Of the enemy,
That sometimes disguises itself
As a friend.

Far away,
In the World,
Which is what he now calls home,
Candidates give speeches,
And spend millions of dollars
In a quest for power,
That will secure them a place
In history,
Immortalized on parchment pages,
Their profiles preserved in oil
And plaster images,
All of which the citizens
Will make pilgrimages to one day see.

Our soldier has a valiant heart,
And despite the wife and kids,
The twins that he has never held,
He is willing to die.
He would freely give his life,
For he knows that freedom
Cannot be defended without a cost.
Make no mistake, he thinks,
The enemy will surely kill us.
They will strip us of what is so very precious;
The freedom to live our lives.

Meanwhile, the politician exits the limousine.
The make-up has been touched-up,
And the message has been polished too.
For months that became years,
He has traveled the land,
And spent a fortune that could feed
A Third World country.
He speaks of freedom,
And our forefathers too,
And then unleashes an attack
That is only meant to smear,
And then he smiles that smile,
And stops for a while,
And shakes hands and kisses a few babies.

In the far away land
Of Afghanistan,
Our soldier rises before the dawn.
Today is a patrol
Into the harsh held lands,
Searching for Satan
In a mountain cave.
All is checked,
And rechecked for good measure,
And at last in the rising sun,
He has a moment to study the pictures.
First are his sons,
They are the key to his future,
And then his beautiful wife
Of enduring virtue,
And his heart is heavy once more.

Back in the World,
There is a debate on the television.
The arguing is spirited
And occasionally unkind,
But everyone will part as friends.
The economy’s the problem,
And the war’s gone on too long;
If you elect me,
I’ll solve all your problems.
And for all of the money,
The travel and the bluster,
The sound bytes on the evening news,
You can’t help but wonder
Deep in your own patriotic heart,
If any of the candidates even understand.

The firefight begins just before ten,
And progress up the hill
Is measured in inches.
The lieutenant has called for air support,
“Colonel, we’re taking heavy fire!”
But the jets have been tasked
To another location.
“So, Lieutenant, you’re going to have to be patient!”
The message is sent
Along the advancing line,
And the soldiers soon know they’re alone.

Little did the officer know,
That when left all alone
He would see only hero’s hearts.
The first to go,
I think you know,
Was our recent father of two.
He was up and running
In the face of heavy fire,
While his buddies laid down
Suppressing cover,
And never once did he think of himself.
No,
He was thinking of his beautiful wife,
And the future of those two little boys,
And he knew that if he failed freedom today,
They might never know patriotic joy.
And that was the thought
When the terrorist fired the shot,
That laid our good soldier low.
As to whether just then,
He suffered regret,
I guess we’ll never really know,
But on that morn,
With his buddies forlorn,
It was a hero’s heart laid low.

We can only hope,
For we no longer trust,
That a politician knows what patriotism means.
Do they really understand
The sacrifices made,
By the heroes
Who give their all for freedom?
The campaign has just begun,
And I’m already tired,
Of the personal attacks that
They have all been pedaling.
So we’ll just have to hope,
When we turn out to vote,
And expect that they’ll remember
Our soldier.