07-11-2015, 12:46 PM
I wrote this for my brother on the 10th anniversary of 9/11.
Let me tell you about this soldier I know,
Escaped his prison at just seventeen years old.
I remember that day and the blistering cold,
And when he said goodbye I could feel it his tone,
Knowing this was the time he could call his own,
And the envy I felt as he left his home.
Watching him disappear into that flying boat,
Little did we know with what the future would come.
That was the summer of 2001.
I remember that day like it was just a dream.
Woke like a baby from my deep sleep,
Came in the living room and what did I see?
Two towers on fire on our color tv screen.
My grandma said “look we’re under attack!”
But being in fourth grade I didn’t acknowledge the fact.
Didn’t know that this would pave the path
For another burden placed on an American son’s back
We still have the letters he sent from basic,
Describing how he came to be a combat medic.
Like his, everyone’s mind was hectic,
Lined up in the yard they asked who wanted to make
These bastards pay for the damage they’ve made.
He raised his hands, no time to waste,
Knowing completely what the stakes would be,
And offered his life to defend Lady Liberty.
One letter described a time he stayed
For four months straight at a single base
Mortars constantly coming, night and day,
Hearing whistling overhead, knowing well it may
Leave its mark far outside the gate,
Or blow up directly in his face.
After a while you get callous to the haste,
Accepting the fact he could set his own pace,
Just walking around from place to place,
Because at any second he could meet his fate.
What hit me the most that he told us about
Was when a mother and her daughters had to be snuffed out.
The girls came running from out of their house
AK’s in their hands, fingers on the triggers, casings spewing about.
Dropping to one knee, it came down to one thing,
“Its either them or me”, two shots and they hit the ground
It wasn’t yet over, for their mother appeared with a shout,
RPG on her shoulder, ready to be a martyr,
Two more shots and she went down.
The day he came back felt like no other,
So much emotions running, we all at least once cried.
Not yet old enough to buy a beer
He refused everyone’s attempts to sympathize
We could only imagine what he’d been through with a tear,
Yet he didn’t want to be rewarded for his time.
Father, Grandparents, and Mother
Unaware of the horrors witnessed by his eyes.
I’m proud to call him my Brother, a soldier,
Our hero of war had come back alive.
Let me tell you about this soldier I know,
Escaped his prison at just seventeen years old.
I remember that day and the blistering cold,
And when he said goodbye I could feel it his tone,
Knowing this was the time he could call his own,
And the envy I felt as he left his home.
Watching him disappear into that flying boat,
Little did we know with what the future would come.
That was the summer of 2001.
I remember that day like it was just a dream.
Woke like a baby from my deep sleep,
Came in the living room and what did I see?
Two towers on fire on our color tv screen.
My grandma said “look we’re under attack!”
But being in fourth grade I didn’t acknowledge the fact.
Didn’t know that this would pave the path
For another burden placed on an American son’s back
We still have the letters he sent from basic,
Describing how he came to be a combat medic.
Like his, everyone’s mind was hectic,
Lined up in the yard they asked who wanted to make
These bastards pay for the damage they’ve made.
He raised his hands, no time to waste,
Knowing completely what the stakes would be,
And offered his life to defend Lady Liberty.
One letter described a time he stayed
For four months straight at a single base
Mortars constantly coming, night and day,
Hearing whistling overhead, knowing well it may
Leave its mark far outside the gate,
Or blow up directly in his face.
After a while you get callous to the haste,
Accepting the fact he could set his own pace,
Just walking around from place to place,
Because at any second he could meet his fate.
What hit me the most that he told us about
Was when a mother and her daughters had to be snuffed out.
The girls came running from out of their house
AK’s in their hands, fingers on the triggers, casings spewing about.
Dropping to one knee, it came down to one thing,
“Its either them or me”, two shots and they hit the ground
It wasn’t yet over, for their mother appeared with a shout,
RPG on her shoulder, ready to be a martyr,
Two more shots and she went down.
The day he came back felt like no other,
So much emotions running, we all at least once cried.
Not yet old enough to buy a beer
He refused everyone’s attempts to sympathize
We could only imagine what he’d been through with a tear,
Yet he didn’t want to be rewarded for his time.
Father, Grandparents, and Mother
Unaware of the horrors witnessed by his eyes.
I’m proud to call him my Brother, a soldier,
Our hero of war had come back alive.