The Soldier

He always wanted to be
A man with a gun
In his hand,
And a flag on
His coffin.
He could could see it
In his mind's eye:
Stained with his blood
And his mother's tears,
Shed for a heavenly hero.
His dreams came true,
Except it was slightly different,
In that the flag no longer waved
Above the country of the past;
The young and restless
Home of the free
Had become the home
Of deception and lies.
So the soldier waits in purgatory
Looking to see
What will grow
From the soil
Fed by his corpse.