Journal Entry Two: A Soldier's Poem

He takes out some ink...

And he gets time to think...

He waits to be alone...

He decides to write home.

He writes about his life,

He writes to his dear wife.

His dream is to come home from no-man's-land,

His dream is to leave the blood-stained sand.

The woman who holds his heart,

And takes loving him as a fine-art.

The woman with his baby,

He'll see her, maybe, just maybe...

He wants to sleep in his own bed,

He wants to be home, he has said...

But his ink won't erase,

And he can't leave his army base.

Even though me might die tomorrow,

Most of us surpass the sorrow.

Think about his dear-old pop,

Whose worried about his boy, non stop.

Think about his weeping wife,

Who's husband might just lose his life.

Think about his crying baby,

Who might never meet a father, maybe, just maybe.

That soilder is fighting for us all.

Every single one of us, big tall, little small.

So keep him in your prayers every night,

Pray for him with all your might.

For he could lose his life today,

And all we can do is pray.

He's seen so many die,

And it's almost like I can hear him cry.

Think of him when you think you've got it bad.

Think of just, that young lad.

He's the voice to those, who cannot speak,

He's the hero for those who cannot seek.

For he's seen his best friend die,

He's heard his wingman's last cry.

Your best friend is next to you,

His best friend is dead, and there's nothing he could do.

He hasn't seen his family,

We see ours every day, you and me.  

So he sends his letter home from Iraq,

And he tells them not to write back.

He can't bear to hear their reply,

Because he's not coming home, and he doesn't know why.