The Voice

A young boy playing games of war,
His imaginings filled with innocence, unaware of reality's horror.

He heard a voice filled with cadences being sung like hymns,
Of how the good guys always win.

A young man dreams of being a soldier,
A call to carry others' burdens on his shoulders.

A voice rising from deep within,
To right the wrongs of others' sin.

He heard the enemy's stirring and unrest,
And returned home with medals pinned upon his chest.

Now a vet, he carries the scars from battle,
Though never appearing to be rattled.

He sat in a chair in his living room,
While off in the distance eerie whispers grew.

The moanings of those who had never left his mind,
Those who were forever stuck in time.

They called his name while formless shadows creeped,
And nightmarish footsteps creaked.

He heard the voices of soldiers he once had known,
Ghosts of those who never made it home.

But now there's a voice calling his name,
One that can no longer be restrained.

A voice that was heard long ago when freedom began to call,
A voice that knew freedom's cost would not be understood by all.

It's crying out with a warning as some are unaware,
"Freedom is being threatened and won't be easily repaired!

Don't let the suffering be in vain,
Remind them freedom's cost was heartache and bloodstains!

Freedom is under attack!
Once it's gone, you'll never get it back!"

He heard a voice that is beginning to fade,
Though over and over the ultimate price has been paid.

He answered the call, and he knows the cost,
But some won't understand until freedom is lost.