My father was a pilot
but I was too young to see him fly.
My friend’s brother was a fighter
but he seldom spoke
about the exploding land mines.
One can only handle so much loss
before his heart bleeds out.
Rivers of bitter blood
uniting all who fought;
for you and me, for our freedom
never minding the high price.
Grieving all the lost souls
who as dust disappeared into the sky.
We must never forget their light
we must never forget their fight.
We must never forget
the courage of a few
heroic enough to protect us.
To keep us safe, to keep us free.
Free to speak, free to eat,
free to remember their hearts.
Hearts filled with fear but
propelled by bravery.
By Sharka Waite