Soldier's Return
By Cynthia D. Roberts
He sat on his bed with his hat in his hand,
The memories ran through his mind.
He was 18 and with his brother fishing.
Then signing up for the Vietnam War,
The next in line to serve his country.
Standing with his family at the bus depot,
He watched his mother try not to cry,
His sister held her doll and dried her tears,
His brother longing to join him next year,
He fought the tears as he hugged them each,
His father dressed in uniform, beamed with pride,
He stood before him, a young man off to war,
A single tear rolled down his father's cheek,
As he proudly shook the hand of his father,
His father raised his hand and saluted him.
He straitened to attention, and placed his hand to his head,
The moment he knew he was now a man.
They dropped their hands,
And he gave one last Goodbye to his mother,
He picked up his bags and boarded the bus.
The Crimson truth of reality stood before Him,
As the Screams of the shells start piercing,
Guns fire ringing in his mind,
With the echo of his dyeing comrades.
Honorably discharged, he returns and takes a wife.
His Bride and him spent eight happy years together,
When she gave him his first son.
His Daughter came the year after,
Ten years of happily ever after,
Ends abruptly with the passing of his wife.
A soft knock at the door and the shadows of the past fades,
He composed himself and limped to the door.
Time seemed to slow down with each painful step,
As he approached his waiting family,
His sister's gentle hand leads him to the car.
His mind took a journey back to when the towers fell,
And the pride he felt when his son announced he would serve,
His Daughter begged her brother not to go,
But a only a soldier can understand this call to arms,
A father's hug and salute to send a man off to the another war,
The whole family was there waiting for him,
Service men all dressed in Dress Uniforms,
The room was dressed in flowers,
A photograph stood at the front of the room,
The young man in the photograph was his Son.
Quietly, everyone greeted him as he was led to his seat.
Standing at attention, The highest Salute was given to him,
From everyone in Dress Uniform.
The sound of marching rang through the room,
As everyone turn to look at the same doors.
He held his breath as the doors open.
Rhythmic footsteps drummed as the color guard appeared,
His eyes were glued to his son as they carried him,
A perfectly pressed flag laid over him,
His heart dropped at the sight of his son's coffin.
The hand of his Daughter rested on his shoulder,
As she tried to remain silent with her tears,
With the help of his family he followed behind his son,
As they carried him out to the grave,
His heart Ached with sorrow and pride.
The murmurs of the preachers words faded,
As he watched the flag ruffle in the wind.
The calls of commands seemed so distant.
He stood at attention, as the gun fire sounded,
And saluted as his son while he was lowered into the ground
Never in his youth could he dream of such sorrow,
Never should anyone see so much death,
Never can anyone understand,
The heartache of a military family,
When a Soldier Returns to be laid to Rest.
