May 2007

Patriot Game
(little boy soldiers)

Proud little boys dressed in tiny big-boy uniforms;
just another version of Cowboys and Indians.

I remember the war … another place another time.
The oldest noble profession is a young man’s job.

But these skills last forever … rusted trophies of a misspent youth.

Where does this power come from?
Even now the love of that idea burns in me;

and those five simple words can drop me to my knees.
Oh say can you see … and my eyes … they know;

as oceans burst forth in a welling fountain.

No one loves peace more than a true soldier
for they know too well the alternative.

A country is not its government … it’s the people;
but even that is not enough to ignite the patriot love.

It’s an idea … a look in a father’s eyes … a straightening
of grandfather’s back as the parade marches by.

No sound is louder than the rustling wind through a flag …
whispering voices lost long ago.

We stand vigilant and face the demons of the darkness …
to proud to fear … or cry.

There be dragons out there … but worry not fair maiden.

Heroism is just stupidity … with a cause;
brilliantly blind bluster of youthful ignorance;

derived from love and distilled from honor.
Each oak cask aged from the past and armored in the knight.

The tracks of my love leak stains of salt
in a sea swollen with tears.

I would spill my blood for you America
and yet I still do not know who you are.

If you call, I will stand.
For in my chest is the beat of a billion hearts;

and in my ears are the cries of a trillion voices …
hushed by a single sigh.

But in my head is a solitary proud thought of clarity.
I am a patriot and this country is the home of my liberty.

Freedom shall not fall on my watch.

Lucian

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