A Poem

The soldier stood and faced God Which must always come to pass

He hoped his shoes were shining Just as brightly as his brass.

"Step forward now, you soldier, How shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek? To My Church have you been true?

" The soldier squared his shoulders and said, "No, Lord, I guess I ain't

Because those of us who carry guns Can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays And at times my talk was tough,

And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough.

But, I never took a penny That wasn't mine to keep...

Though I worked a lot of overtime When the bills got just too steep,

And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear,

And sometimes, God forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place Among the people here,

They never wanted me around Except to calm their fears.

If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand,

I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand.

" There was a silence all around the throne Where the saints had often trod

As the soldier waited quietly, For the judgment of his God,

"Step forward now, you soldier, You've borne your burdens well,

Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell."

- Author unknown Thanks for reading.

This living hand, now warm and capable of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold and in the icy silence of the tomb, so haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights, that thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood, so that in these veins, red life might stream again, and thou wouldst be concience calm'd. See..here it is. I hold it toward you..

-part of a letter by Yeats (I think)

Bah, military doesn't get paid extra for overtime.




Great Poem tho.

Two really great poems!

Apologia Pro Poemate Meo
by Wilfred Owen

I, too, saw God through mud,-
The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.

Merry it was to laugh there-
Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.
For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder.

I, too, have dropped off Fear-
Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,
And sailed my spirit surging light and clear
Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn;

And witnessed exultation-
Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,
Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,
Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.

I have made fellowships-
Untold of happy lovers in old song.
For love is not the binding of fair lips
With the soft silk of eyes that look and long,

By Joy, whose ribbon slips,-
But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;
Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong.

I have perceived much beauty
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
Heard music in the silentness of duty;
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.

Nevertheless, except you share
With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,
And heaven but as the highway for a shell,

You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears. You are not worth their merriment.
.
.

'How shall I explaing the dying that was done?
Shall I say that each one did the math, and wrote
The value of his days
Against the bloody margin,in an understated hand?
They will want to know
How was the audit done?
And I shall say that it was done,
For once,
By those who knew the worth
Of what was spent that day.'

Richard Morgan

Thank you Lector for sharing that