Hello again, and welcome.
I had the honor and privilege of staring at a picture a few years ago. It was a picture of my nephew, Master Sergeant Michael Lyons, USMC, retired 20 years. The picture was of him during one of his tours in Iraq. He was standing in front of a monstrous vehicle. I think it was a Bradley, or something like it. He was in full gear, hugging an automatic rifle across his chest. The tires on this vehicle were about as tall as he was. I believe the picture was taken on a highway outside Fallujah, but I’m probably wrong. The thing that matters most is that he was far away from home, doing what he did so well, which was to protect his men, his country, and his home.
As I looked at the picture, I remembered him as a little child, actually, a little baby. I remembered sitting in a chair in our living room, holding him in my arms. I also remember a rush of humble pride sweep down through me as I stared at his eyes in the pic, which were staring right back at me. Well, my emotions soon got hold of me and carried me through a few moments of what many uncles have gone through.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I felt as proud at that moment as any other time in my life, and my pride, my peacock strut was surely strutting high for the next several days, as his strength, courage and inspiration came back home and planted itself right there on my pc monitor.
I can’t ever begin to correctly describe how thankful I am of our service men and women. Their brave sacrifice, and the sacrifice of their families is, well, it utters me speechless on most occasions.
The flag that flies high overhead is a symbol of the strength of our nation, and that strength begins and ends with the bravest of the brave, the honor of the few, and their boots that march always towards tomorrow.
This poem, the fourteenth of my National Poetry Month tally, is in honor of those men and women who have waved our colors on high in the face of great adversity. I will always and forever be in your debt, and hope among all hope that your sacrifice will always guide us towards the horizon.
Thanks for stopping by my blog again, and God bless the lot of ya’s.
A poem by DP Lyons
The colors quietly fly overhead
A gentle breeze blows through an April morning
A large courtyard gathers in the warming days of spring
Two chipmunks chase each other through a row of trumpeting daffodils
A mother sits quietly on a concrete bench
Her arms are cradling a little baby
Three young boys race into the courtyard from the farthest end
The chipmunks quickly disappear into the nearby bushes
The boisterous lads quickly make their way towards the woman
The two youngest veer off towards the flag pole in the center of the courtyard
They start to swing around the tall pole, looking up at the fluttering flag
Stopping for a moment, the youngest one grabs and shakes the halyard back and forth
The truck and snap hooks sing out into the spring morning with their ringing song
The oldest of the three boys walks from the woman, back to the flag pole
Resting his hand on the youngest boy’s shoulder, he kneels beside him
The boy stops shaking the rope, looks at his older brother, then up at the flag
The other lad comes and stands beside his two brothers
The younger boys stare quietly at their older brother as he speaks
All three brothers stare up at the flag as it proudly unfurls along the April morning breeze
The mother rocks her baby as she stares at her sons
She takes a deep breath as a smile stretches across her glowing face
The younger boy glances at his older brother, then back up to the stars and stripes
He slowly leans in and hugs the flag pole
A tear slowly runs down his mother’s cheek
The baby looks at her mother, smiles, then stares out at her three older brothers
The April breeze picks up, and once again grabs hold of the colors on high