He was alone
Far from home
Isolated by bullets
As he bled on sand and stone

The explosion triggering the attack
Crushed vertebrae in a brother's back
A bullet tore through another's arm
The wound left a prominent scar

Through the radio, the lone voice of the isolated soldier:
"I've been shot...and it's bad."

Upon reaching the fallen, the medic knew from ****** experience
That his friend was a living corpse, dying is a process
Doc prayed he was wrong
He wasn't

Next week, next firefight
Their blood paid for our blood
Pray it meant something in the end

PLEASE READ THIS!!!! This poem has triggers mainly of bullying and suicide. If you are triggered by either of these things, please don't read! I don't want anyone to hurt themselves!! :)**



My reflection
Staring back at this corpse
Nothing left but an empty soul
Picked at by vultures
Preyed upon
Until nothing was left but skin and bones

Why am I your target?
What have I done?

You have no answer
Yet you laugh in my face with your friends
Degrading me to nothing but dust
Suicidal thoughts enter and exit the empty space my brain used to occupy

But I don’t think anymore
I don’t speak anymore
I don’t care anymore

I walk and walk saying nothing
My mouth sewn shut with invisible string
Like a puppet
I act out my everyday life for you
Pretending everything’s okay
With an inviting smile and eyes filled with some kind of hope
Yet when I go home
I sit and stare at my options

Rope
Blades
Meds
Guns

All in my possession
Wishing I had the power in myself to end it

But there is a voice
Soft but clear
That strays me away
Tells me everything will be fine.

But I never listen to the soothing sound
All I hear is static; the static of all my bullies telling me

You’re ugly
You’re fat
You’re useless
You smell
Too nerdy
Too tall
You’ll never make it
You’re nothing
Why don’t you just **** yourself so we don’t have to see your ugly face around here again?

I’m alone in my house
Find the gun
Sit in my room; the only place where I’ve ever expressed myself
Put the barrel to my head; look around for the last time at memories that will never be finished
Pull the trigger

MEMORIAL DAY May 26th, 2014

****************

To all of you that have ever worn "The Uniform",

the uniform of safety and security, the uniform of pride

the uniform of freedom, the uniform of liberty

THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

**

THANK YOU

Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From:

The American Revolution (most of us have roots to our founders)

The Civil War (North or South)

World War I

World War II

Korea

Vietnam

Cambodia

Laos

Panama

Nicaragua

The Falkland Islands

Somalia

Yugoslavia

Bosnia

Kuwait

Iraq

Afghanistan

­Pakistan

The Persian Gulf



areas and battlefields such as

(not all locations are listed with no dis-respect)



Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA.

and many many more,



you are all heroes and role models, not for a nation, for the world, not for American Patriots, for all humanity, not only on this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come.



You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us.

**********

Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are.



Sincerely,

Warner C. Baxter Jr.

American Patriot

Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A.



God bless America

there is something beautiful about a memory
that reaches from the pit of your stomach
latches onto your heart
and pulls it under your lungs
placing you in a moment
that once saturated the marrow of your bones

when you close your eyes you can
feel, see, and be just as it was
with carrots, a park bench, the night sky,
a bottle of spanish wine
and his arms cradling you against
the chilling wind

it takes you so deeply into
the inscription he carelessly carved
across the back of your eyes that
when you open them again and exhale
you find it fogging the midsummer air
releasing the very breaths you took
by his side

He had his entire life ahead of him.
He was smart, kind, and handsome

But that accident came,
and no one is to blame

He left Earth so soon, is it fair?
He came and went like a breeze of cool air.

He is now safe, He is with God
In a small town, we are still awed.

We cry and pray, pray and cry
Asking God again and again "Why, Oh Why?"

We all know God had bigger plans
Which are more powerful that an ordinary man's


I guess this is good-bye,
So *spread your wings and fly

58,000 names
Chisled into black granite walls.
The hallowed ground in front of
This sacred, special place
Has seen roses, rings & letters,
Wreaths, money, trinkets.
It has been watered with tears of love,
Of grief, of pain.
A wilderness of emotion and memory
Is tied to the smooth dark stone.
Name after name,
Row after row,
Slab after slab,
Wall after wall.
Behind each etched name
There is a story of bravery,
Of courage, of hope;
But at the same time
You can read the grusome headlines
Of the unfeeling papers.
You can see the blood and the smoke,
The eyes of comrades
Glazed over in passing.
You can hear the gunshots,
The agonized screams of the doomed.
Is this a place of life?
A place of death?
A place of worship?
A place of pain? Of sorrow?
A place of memory?
A place of love?