Cross of Freedom

Cross of Freedom

The white cross that marks my earthly tomb and defines my life and age
is only one of millions more that mark the honored and the brave.
And I am but one lone soldier who, among a countless score,
have fought and died for freedom, desiring nothing less or more.

We were sent to far off places that, to us, existed not before
with hateful tools to kill the hate upon a foreign shore.
Freedom’s plaque we left behind to remind us why we came,
but freedom’s plaque was tarnished and we’d never be the same.
How did you greet my brothers, when from war they came back home?
Did you welcome them with loving arms, or were they abandoned and alone?

As you decorate our graves
with springtime wreaths and tears
and solemnly unfurl Old Glory
in the gently blowing breeze,
remember that to a man at war
freedom is the desire to survive;
it’s not about power or might
or even where blame may lie.
But as you gaze upon my tomb
and read the words upon my shrine
reflect and remember yesterday
and the reason that I’m gone.

Ask yourself, my countrymen, ask how you are free to grieve.
That gift was planted here with us, the gift of Freedom’s seed.
Search your soul and ask yourself, was our sacrifice in vain?
Pray for our leaders and all mankind so we may be free again.