I signed my name beneath the dawn, a promise on my tongue, A boy with steady shoulders, a flag against the sun. I learned to count the heartbeat of the night, the cadence of command, Swore I'd stand between the danger and the sleeping of this land.
I came back with my pockets full of stories no one asked to hear, Medals in a drawer like secrets, collecting dust and fear. They looked right through the uniform, turned Sunday into scorn, Like the years I gave were bargaining chips they’d never mourn.
My hands remember every winter, every hungry midnight watch, The letters folded into pockets, each goodbye a private notch. I wake to echoes of the barracks, to names that fade like rain, To ghosts who never saw the dawn, and families left to pain.
They say I’m part of history, then close the book again, The paper promises and prayers are lost beneath disdain. My children ask if I am brave, if what I did was right, I tell them love is why we went — but love has lost the fight.
We didn’t march for medals, didn’t ask for parades, We kept the midnight windows lit while others slept in shade. Call us men, call us brothers, call the ones who came before — We carried daylight in our pockets, we left pieces on that floor.
There’s a hollow in the doorway where respect was meant to stand, A picture of a country that forgot the size of its own hand. If pride is just a shadow, let the light come back again, Lift the fallen banner, call each veteran by name.
I’ll not hang my head for serving, though the town turns cold and small, My uniform belongs to truth, not to their whispered crawl. So place a hand upon my shoulder, let the silence turn to song — We held the line so you could live — remember we were strong.
So why does silence greet me now, when once I walked with pride? Why do strangers spit the name I earned, and push my truth aside? I am more than shame they heap on me, more than broken, tired bone — Remember what we paid for, remember us always.
Heathen_AJ
