A poem about a great man, my father. |
My Father’s Eyes Glancing in the mirror who is it I see? Reflections of my father’s eyes staring back at me. Though he died so long ago, I see him here in me. I know that he was twice the man that I could ever be. They say that when you come of age, you’ll fill your fathers’ shoes But that is one thing, in this life, that I could never do. The scars displayed from battles fought, kept me in my place. In my heart that ol’ Leatherneck could never fall from grace. The “Greatest Generation” was what they called them all. He played his part, stood his ground, refused to let them fall. Through all the blood, while comrades fell, he fought with vengeance, tooth and nail. Killed with skill as Jarheads do, for no Marine is taught to lose. When the flag is raised, they have you stand; over your heart you place your hand. You pay respect to honored men who fought and died on foreign land. And some returned with damaged souls from all the carnage, yet untold. The price they paid, the strength displayed, breaking through the barricades. While shrapnel flew, the soldiers fell, through flaming smoke and burning hell. Without the time to stop and cry or pay respects to those who die. He may have had a drink or two, but never doubt, he paid his dues. So raise your flag with pride displayed: Land of the Free, Home of the Brave. For the Greatest Generation proved, just what a few good men could do. So take some time on Veteran’s Day to place a flag upon their grave, to say a prayer and shed a tear for those brave men, no longer here. In the mirror I may see his eyes, his chin and hair, but my body lacks the scars brought back from “Over There.” I wish I had a little time to talk with him again. To thank him for his sacrifice and shake his calloused hand. If the Army and the Navy ever looked on heaven scenes, They’d find the streets were guarded by a battered ol’ Marine. John P. Moss 10/12/2007 |