“THE COST OF FREEDOM”

Hold me close, from my wounds flowing,

Kiss my brow, to keep me going,

Lift my head, a breath betrays,

Keep me from this very day.

Against the clay and rock beneath,

Life is muddled at my feet.

My hands and fingers numbing still,

Each fleeting moment, so surreal.

As I struggle to hold on,

Embrace me in thy crying throng.

My fear, my pain, my anguish real,

My love for you, my last appeal.

But faint do yonder visions grow,

Thunder... Eyes, begin to roll,

As I leave and enter rest,

I give my life at thy bequest.

But nothing is remembered when,

They mock my wounds in battles then,

For what I died, I gather still,

But freedom costs, and death is real.

Remember me, do graves implore,

Not only man, but all the more,

For eagles fly and dare not when,

The Soldier comes to save again,

For in His blood, He died in vain,

When we remember not His sacred name.

And such is true of nations still,

That honor not that death is real,

For in their blood, they die in vain,

When we remember not their honored names.
 
 by: R. Christopher