Memorial Day, Every Day
For Memorial day- Poetry shared.
I’ve marched out in a driving rain.
I’ve knelt on bloodied fields in pain.
I’ve fought through mud up to my waist,
and I’ll never forget its taste.
My mind still calculates the cost,
calls nightly roll of those we lost,
and sends them to me as I sleep.
There’s nothing I can do to keep
those faces from their nightly show,
but there’s a certain truth I know:
that were my nighttime comrades gone,
I’d be bereft that they’d moved on
and left me here alone to face
a world that’s grown a stranger place,
that rarely slows its beat to see
this relic curiosity.
By: Michael Williams / June 15, 2006
On Memorial Day weekend 2006, I was watching shows on the History Channel. On one of them, a veteran of WWII in the Pacific theater of operations described how he constantly saw the faces of his friends…
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