I dedicate this poem to all the soldiers
in our military who have given of themselves unselfishly, even to the point of laying down
their lives. You deserve so much more credit
than you've been given, and I thank you for
protecting this great nation and the people who
live in it day after day. God bless you all, and
God bless America!
2 Chronicles 7:14-16
A Soldier's Story
Count every footstep I walked, if you would dare to go those lengths.
A soldier’s story isn’t written with your paper and your ink.
My soul beat out the words when only God came down to listen
You were somewhere in your world while I was fighting your redemption.
I wouldn’t expect you to know just how dark the nights can get,
The coldness of a weapon’s metal or depth of a soldier’s pledge.
Talk to me all you want about your politics and regimes—
You handle the lesser details. Leave the fight and freedom to me.
My boots lay still against the earth on this bed of poison ivy;
I feel the New Testament warm my chest as nightfall cloaks around me.
The mud and limbs that shroud my frame are my blankets here tonight.
Another mission, take no prisoners, is the anthem of this fight.
I know each item’s weight, when my canteen is full or hollow.
When all of me is camouflaged, I lastly mask my sorrow.
My heart beats out a type of blood so different from your own
You count your idols while I bury the soldier you’ll never know.
I didn’t mean to grow numb to death, but it happened just the same.
I can’t ask questions about why or when the day they changed my name.
More haunting than the nights alone are the years we leave behind us—
Seeing myself in a trench laid low, cradling my gun in silence.
Four years I was gone; now I can’t even recognize my country.
I thought we were in this together, until you turned and shot me.
Shaking hands with the enemy, how quickly you’ve forgotten.
I thought our flag was beautiful; you burn it with lies and toxin.
Half of me is screaming out; the other half is patrolling.
One day we’ll launch our own attack on a day you aren’t expecting.
Trained, numbed mentally, and primed, I stepped onto this battleground.
I thought my wound was bad until the soldier beside me went down.
I wonder if you’d love me after all the scars I’ve taken.
I wonder if I get free speech or if this is still my nation.
I wonder if soldiers are born, or if they grow over the years.
I wonder if angels are sent, or if they followed us here.
Copyright 2011 by Ashley Williams
