Silent Soldier: Our American Flag

Silent Soldier
original poem by x_1013_x

Through musket blast and canon roar,
the crash of bombs on foreign shore,
the flag has flown as it’s flown before;
glorious and tall.

Through hunger, cold, and haunting fear,
soldier’s loss, a mother’s tear,
it stands for all that we hold dear;
heeding freedom’s call.

Though history and years ahead,
what is silent and what is said,
purest blue, white, and red,
the flag will never fall.

Our current President seems to think very little of our flag. The flag was born of our battles for freedom. Without those battles, Obama wouldn't be president. Not just the struggles for racial equality, mind you, but the wars before America was founded and every battle since. After all, you can't be president of something that doesn't exist. He balks at wearing a pin, forgets to salute, and now seems ashamed enough of the stars and stripes that the U.S. military relief workers in Haiti have no colors under which to gather. Why he has this aversion to the flag is anyone's guess, but to me, the flag is everything it should be: a reminder that freedom must be cherished and the sacrifices made to gain that freedom should never be taken for granted.

Placing undue emphasis on the material things in life is rarely a good thing. Men have fought and died for less than cloth, that's for certain. But if someone can't have a little respect for something as storied and gallant as our flag, how can we expect them to respect our founding documents? No matter what happens in the coming months or years, the flag will stand true. It has seen us at our best and now, I fear, it's seeing us at our worst. But as long as there are those of us who remember what the flag symbolizes, there is genuine hope.

The Faith of General Washinton

We got a lot of snow this week. The temperature was blistering cold, the wind like tiny needles on the skin. I was reminded of a poem I wrote last year. At the time, I was watching the country I loved so dearly circle the drain. Reaching out for some kind of hope, I grasped onto the image of George Washington praying at Valley Forge. There's no definitive proof he did such a thing, but belief without proof, that's faith. I believe in the strength of the American people. I believe we can make it through anything because, frankly, we've made it through before.

The Faith of General Washington
copyright 2009, x_1013_x
Through fearful passing of day and night
The winter snows and icy death
A weary army prepared to fight
For the fire of freedom’s breath.

At Long Island, they’d fallen hard,
A defeat at Brandywine,
Germantown had left them scarred,
But White Marsh held the line.

The season’s change delayed the war,
With rain and biting wind,
They huddled on the valley floor,
As food and spirit thinned.

His men were hungry, tired, and ill,
Their fortitude was weak,
He woke each day with hope and still,
The coming spring looked bleak.

Riding slowly through the slush,
The chill breeze burned his face,
A clearing shone beyond the brush,
It seemed a peaceful place.

He stopped his horse in virgin snow,
Removed his hat and sword
Knees on the ground, his head bent low,
He addressed his saving Lord.

“Bring me will, but spare me pride,
Make my spirit strong.”
“Give Your peace to those who died,
So we could fight this long.”

“Show Your path, so I may lead,
The souls who trust Your hand,
To stay the flows when they bleed,
And guide them when they stand.”

“Grant us Your mercy, ease our fear,
Warm us with the sun,
Bring our ultimate victory near,
With every battle won.”

Hear the cries of Your servants bold,
See us to the dawn of day.
Through sleepless nights, dark and cold.
In your name, I pray.”

On his feet, he scanned the sky,
His eyes on the Valley camp.
As gentle snowflakes began to fly,
A watchman lit a lamp.

At first, in the fog, the light was lame,
but as others blazed, it grew.
From a tiny spark to a roaring flame,
The light of the faithful true.

The army served him in battle’s ring
To revolution’s drum,
And he trusted hope to a heavenly king,
For a freedom yet to come.