Feel the rumble of tires and tracks marching over soft sand.
They sing a song of love and hate,
of life and death,
of honor and sacrifice.
They carry with them the notes from which that song was written.
Weary broken down faces,
carrying the weight of the vehicle they fight from on their hearts.
Outside, the sight is that of power.
Large armored bodies riddled with dents and scratches
from the battles they have won,
rolling relentlessly over the burdened earth on a never ending trek to the end.
Inside, the sight is that of truth.
Heavy hearts masked by an even heavier complexion,
hovering helplessly around each other,
waiting worriedly for the next stop on a trip of torture.
  Love, life, and honor are plastered to the outside,
only to mask the battered and beaten men cowering on the inside.
Yes this may be the life they chose to lead,
but no matter how honored these men may be,
they all wish for the rear view mirror on the windshield
to be pointed to the past,
preciously viewing the lives they left back home.
The war worn clothes they wear itch at their skin,
and the weight of their gear almost outweighs
the worry dragging on their hearts.
Though we fight proudly for the place we love,
we are always focused fearfully on that rear view mirror,
hoping we will one day make it home,
and turn that mirror back to that truck so the next man in line
can enjoy glimpses of their past too.