August 12, 2008
By Jillian Mismas, Highland Hts., OH

The ruthless cries of sorrow,
will come every tomorrow.
Weeps that will come each day,
Pending from our loved ones that now lay.

A daughter wishes upon a star,
wishing her father hadn't gone far.
His time of rest,his time is done,
It all ended with screams of murder under the sun.

A yearning wife,
It became her life.
Awaiting the day when her man came home,
Knowing that she will forever live alone.

A father weeping in a chair,
His only thought was that life wasn't fair.
His heart...broken.
The medal from his son his only token.

War that creates hate,
there is but one fate...

A soldier sitting on his bed with a wound on his chest.
His only thought, his only worry,
was about the rest.
His friends, the soldiers were still fighting,
the rain poured as there were flashes of lightning.

A medal is what they receive,
Watching their family wave to them as they leave.
But more should come their way,
when they joined with the army that very day.

Paper can fade and paper can fold,
Memories can be forgotten and medals are cold.
But my words will live through all weather,
This is my thank you that will live forever.

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