The age of a number

January 15, 2010
My grandfather told story’s of his childhood.
He would speak of the times he was in the war,
What was being done and what he saw.
How you kill someone you don’t know.
And how his mind wanted to blow.

How he went many nights without sleep.
Listening to the gun fires and the exploding.
He said that was the only thing that could make a grown man cry.
Watching an innocent person die.

He talked about the long walks he would take,
Making sure he watched his step, so he would step on any bombs that dentine.
He talked about the nights he missed his wife. Say a pray to god not to take his life.
He said too much blood was shed.
And too many people were died.

He told us how life was to short,
And you should want less instead of more.
To be happy of what you have instead of what you don’t.
The loyalty he showed to the soldier was strong.
How you watched the backs of the men you didn’t know that long.

He was caring, loyal, funny, trustworthy, interesting, with a strong mind.
Never leaving any of his teammates behind
With his creative thinking that lend the way.

He was a leader, a friend, a husband, and a grandfather to me.
With me he shared all his memories.
To my grandfather that served for the red, white and blue.
I dedicate this one to you.

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