Tomorrow morning, I'll drive home from work, the Texas sun already beginning to heat the air as I pass the flags on display in the sunny July morning heat. And the mists of time will part for me, as a freezing tear runs down my cheek, remembering that cold winter at Valley Forge, the snow and bitter wind, rags on my feet for warmth, leaving patches of bloody skin on the frozen barrel of a flintlock rifle, as it's charged for the ride across the Delaware to Trenton, and the warm, well-fed Hessian soldiers waiting there.
Perhaps I'll smell a wisp of smoke, from a burning White House, or remember the mud, and the creatures that lived in those Louisiana swamps, and the quiet advance toward the British positions, the flag moving slowly ahead, showing the way to battle, as I wonder who among us will fall, not to rise again.
I could get lost in the memory of old friends, and think about meeting them again, wearing a uniform of a different color than mine, will I have to, will I be able to, spill his blood because his uniform is blue, or gray?
A scent of salt in the air? Is this the motion of a car, or the motion of a boat, heading toward a landing in Cuba, the Phillipines, the coast of Mexico? Is it still tears falling, or the water laden breeze that puts moisture on my face?
A glance downward, at my pants, and memory shows the mud of the trenches, the tears from the barbed wire, and breathing becomes difficult, as the scent of mustard gas fills the air. "In Flanders fields the poppies grow….." and it seems that I can see them instead of the concrete of the highway.
What hell is this? Out of silence, the explosions, as my booted feet fight through the sand to safety and cover. The flag appears in Fortress Europa, and the final push to end the reign of a madman begins, while men of learning work to capture the sun and bring it to earth, to end another insanity, by touching earth with the fires of hell itself.
The cold again. Korean winter, frozen bodies, to hold a line and give no more, death to maintain a status quo, but I can see the flag, I can still believe, I can still hope that this will end it, stop it, draw the line and finish the bloodshed.
Where did this heat come from? Texas is never this hot! From concrete canyons to fetid jungle, in a blink out of time, few places for the flag to fly here, and it becomes a blanket to warm the cold, stilled bodies of those who leave in boxes. "All gave some, some gave all……" but, living or dead, you leave a piece of your soul behind……
In my driveway, thoughts of that paper, such a simple document, that, though its meaning has been twisted and distorted, was the framework for it all. Flagpole in the yard, the flag flies high as always, defiant symbol, mute, but saying, "You can still make it work!"
Weary, I enter the house, tired, so tired, from my journey, across 33 miles, across 45 minutes, across more than two hundred years. Turn at the doorway, a last look. I stand straight, brace my bone tired, middle-aged body, and salute as best I remember. "I'm still here, old friend, I still believe in you. Happy Independence day, and…….Happy Birthday.
------------------
When they try to take away my 2nd Amendment rights, tell them Hell's comin' and I'm comin' with it! Armed and Dangerous
Perhaps I'll smell a wisp of smoke, from a burning White House, or remember the mud, and the creatures that lived in those Louisiana swamps, and the quiet advance toward the British positions, the flag moving slowly ahead, showing the way to battle, as I wonder who among us will fall, not to rise again.
I could get lost in the memory of old friends, and think about meeting them again, wearing a uniform of a different color than mine, will I have to, will I be able to, spill his blood because his uniform is blue, or gray?
A scent of salt in the air? Is this the motion of a car, or the motion of a boat, heading toward a landing in Cuba, the Phillipines, the coast of Mexico? Is it still tears falling, or the water laden breeze that puts moisture on my face?
A glance downward, at my pants, and memory shows the mud of the trenches, the tears from the barbed wire, and breathing becomes difficult, as the scent of mustard gas fills the air. "In Flanders fields the poppies grow….." and it seems that I can see them instead of the concrete of the highway.
What hell is this? Out of silence, the explosions, as my booted feet fight through the sand to safety and cover. The flag appears in Fortress Europa, and the final push to end the reign of a madman begins, while men of learning work to capture the sun and bring it to earth, to end another insanity, by touching earth with the fires of hell itself.
The cold again. Korean winter, frozen bodies, to hold a line and give no more, death to maintain a status quo, but I can see the flag, I can still believe, I can still hope that this will end it, stop it, draw the line and finish the bloodshed.
Where did this heat come from? Texas is never this hot! From concrete canyons to fetid jungle, in a blink out of time, few places for the flag to fly here, and it becomes a blanket to warm the cold, stilled bodies of those who leave in boxes. "All gave some, some gave all……" but, living or dead, you leave a piece of your soul behind……
In my driveway, thoughts of that paper, such a simple document, that, though its meaning has been twisted and distorted, was the framework for it all. Flagpole in the yard, the flag flies high as always, defiant symbol, mute, but saying, "You can still make it work!"
Weary, I enter the house, tired, so tired, from my journey, across 33 miles, across 45 minutes, across more than two hundred years. Turn at the doorway, a last look. I stand straight, brace my bone tired, middle-aged body, and salute as best I remember. "I'm still here, old friend, I still believe in you. Happy Independence day, and…….Happy Birthday.
------------------
When they try to take away my 2nd Amendment rights, tell them Hell's comin' and I'm comin' with it! Armed and Dangerous
