Another Poem- Come Home?

Question

I literally have hundreds of poems, all about different things and I'm trying to get the ones I like most out there. Please let me know what you think. This ones about the war in Iraq and how I lost someone I love, my cousin.

you held your ground and fought so strong
an amazing soldier
but tired and ready to come home
you survived for so long
and had so many lucky breaks
just three months until leave
almost time to come home
your luck ran out
and your fight quickly ended
were all so proud
and we honor our soldier
but now all we have left is memories
and that familiar gray tombstone
which carries a man loved so strong
that finally got the chance to come home

Answer 1

Sorry for loosing your cousin.

This is quite a moving poem and the final few lines are the most striking I have ever seen in this section:

all we have left is memories
and that familiar gray tombstone
which carries a man loved so strong
that finally got the chance to come home

To "finally got the chance to come home" yet we know already that the soldier died, ignites some fearful element in our mind's eye. This was a chance that was doomed from the start. The reader kind of feels a disturbing pity for the soldier since returning home was so close, yet so far, "just three months until leave."

It reminds me of an equally powerful poem, "Bingen on the Rhine," about a "soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers"!
And similar feelings are evoked since as a reader, I get the paradoxical feeling that for your cousin also,
"There was a lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears."

The sense of loneliness was acute for your cousin as it was for the soldier of Legion. There was no woman's nursing, emptiness all around. . . .
"But a comrade stood beside him, while his life blood ebbed away."

Your cousin too "survived for so long/and had so many lucky breaks" but then "your luck ran out." One feels sympathy for the family, "and we honor our soldier," just like the soldier of Legion's death was so honored as he uttered expressions of patriotism to his mate and what his family should know! But what remains now? "now all we have left is memories," Memories indeed. The soldier has gone forever. And then you deal the reader stinging upper-cut knock-out punch with this powerful mnemonic image: all that remains is memory "and that familiar gray tombstone." WOW!!

Like the Soldier of Legion who lay dying in Algiers when the powers that be insisted on fighting in the desertlands for worthless unjust courses, your cousin succumbed, lay dying in Baghdad probably for one of the most unjust courses in living memory!
Excuse my errant swipe at the Neo-cons military-industrial complexes that launched the costly war for dubious selfish reasons and sacrificed the lives of innocent and selffless patriots like your cousin! That's what similarly drove the Rumsfelds, the Cheyneys, the Wolfowitzes, the Powells and the oil-for-food right-wing conservatives during the Algiers offensive that led to the Legion soldier lying on the desert sands of Algiers!!

Pardon my indulgence again but I think such poems should be sent to DC to be pasted on the corridors of the Pentagon or sent as courtesy gifts to uncle George W!!

Finally, allow me please to paste below Sheridan's poem I have referred to severally above:

**
Bingen on the Rhine
-By Caroline Sheridan Norton (1808-1877)

A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was a lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;
But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away,
And bent with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.
The dying soldier faltered, and he took that comrade's hand,
And he said, "I nevermore shall see my own, my native land:
Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine,
For I was born at Bingen, -- at Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground,
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done,
Full many a corpse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun;
And, mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, -- The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars;
And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline, --
And one had come from Bingen, -- fair Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old age;
For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage.
For my father was a soldier, and even as a child
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild;
And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take whate'er they would, -- but kept my father's sword;
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine
On the cottage wall at Bingen, -- calm Bingen on the Rhine.

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head,
When the troops come marching home again with glad and gallant tread,
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye,
For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die;
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame,
And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine)
For the honor of old Bingen, -- dear Bingen on the Rhine.

"There's another, -- not a sister: in the happy days gone by
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye;
Too innocent for coquetry, -- too fond for idle scorning, --
O friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning!
Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere the moon be risen,
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), --
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, -- fair Bingen on the Rhine.

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, -- I heard, or seemed to hear,
The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear;
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,
The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still;
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly talk,
Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk!
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, --
But we'll meet no more at Bingen, -- loved Bingen on the Rhine."

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, -- his grasp was childish weak, --
His eyes put on a dying look, -- he sighed, and ceased to speak;
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled, --
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead;
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strown;
Yet calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen, -- fair Bingen on the Rhine.
**


Good luck

Answer 2

I am certain your dad is far happier at house. We all recognize house is wherein the guts is and being surrounded by means of the ones we like is exceptional treatment. (((HUG))) I'm completely happy for all of you. :)

Answer 3

i like it, it has alot of meaning to it and i think thats why i like it so much