Ballad of the Father

April 29, 2012
By Andrew Jackson BRONZE, San Antonio, Texas
Andrew Jackson BRONZE, San Antonio, Texas
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

My Son, My Son, where are you?
Why have you gone away?
I stay up every single night,
In the room you used to lay.

The house is not the same,
And it begs for your return.
Your photo still hangs,
Beside your mother’s urn.

I still remember it clearly,
The day you flew the nest.
You went to join the Army,
And stand out from the rest.

My mind said to let you go,
But my heart did not agree.
I did not want you to fulfill
Your patriotic fantasy.

You told me it would be okay,
You said it would be fine.
But what you forgot to say,
Was that sorrow would be mine.

Nothing more than a letter,
Delivered through the mail.
Was needed to inform me
Of your unfortunate tale.

The day had finally come
When I laid you to your rest.
In a flag covered casket
Made only for the best.

But while I was mourning,
Protesters came to me.
Saying you deserved to die,
For serving a corrupted country

You would not be left alone,
They protest every day.
I plead with all my might,
But they refuse to go away.

I wish you were in Arlington
So this madness would cease.
My Son, My Son, why won’t they
Let you rest in peace?

The author's comments:
I wrote this ballad in order to show people how unfairly veterans are treated by society today. I hope that someone will read this and understand that veterans deserve respect, whether alive or dead.

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