Poems

I thought I would start a thread and if someone feels they would like to add theirs as well that would be great. I will start with the first one and one of my favorites.

THE FINAL INSPECTION


The soldier stood and faced his God,

Which must always come to pass.

He hoped his shoes were shining,

Just as brightly as his brass.



"Step forward now, you soldier,

How shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek?

To My Church have you been true?"



The soldier squared his shoulders and said,

"No, Lord, I guess I ain't.

Because those of us who carry guns,

Can't always be a saint.



I've had to work most Sundays,

And at times my talk was tough.

And sometimes I've been violent,

'cause the world is awfully rough.



But, I never took a penny,

That wasn't mine to keep...

Though I worked a lot of overtime,

When the bills just got too steep.



And I never passed a cry for help,

Though at times I shook with fear.

And sometimes, God, forgive me,

I've wept unmanly tears.



I know I don't deserve a place,

Among the people here.

They never wanted me around,

Except to calm their fear.



If you have a place for me here, Lord,

It needn't be so grand.

I never wanted or had too much,

But if you don't, I'll understand.



There was a silence all around the throne,

Where the saints had often trod.

As the soldier waited quietly,

For the judgment of his God.



"Step forward now, you soldier,

You've borne your burdens well.

Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,

You've done your time in Hell."


~Author Unknown~

Somethin I wrote.

WITH THESE HANDS
It wasn't the first of many letters,
Nor was it the last,
It was the absence I felt,
It has been so long,
I can't feel homesick,
I have learned quickly,
This is my home.

Home, If you can call it that,
My brothers,
My sisters,
My rifle,
Sand in every pore of my body,
And surrounded by death.

Most of my letters have fallen apart,
Torn,
Dirty,
And no long smelling of,
What I used to call home.

Tired, is my new awakened state,
Rest is no longer rest,
As I'm torn from sleep,
By brutal,
Unspeakable dreams.

Maybe it was feeling nothing,
For someone who I meant everything to,
Maybe it was knowing,
I am moving backward in life,
The one I worked so hard to build.

Most of all,
It is that I now know,
Not even tears of innocence,
Can wash the blood,
From my war torn hands.