Jodi M. Kucera

The honor guard stands sentinel and stiff-backed.
Their tears silently fall, for their brotherhood was forged in combat.

One of their own will be laid to rest,
A tribute and honor given only to the best.

As his family gathers near,
His wife takes her place as she wipes away her tears.

At the front, soldiers offer a salute,
And the casket is draped in red white and blue.

The red stripes are made redder by the courage in which he served,
Defending our freedoms he fought to preserve.

The white is made more pure by his devotion to duty,
A bronze star he earned in the midst of the enemy's cruelty.

The blue field and the stars are our great land and our ideals that he defended,
Because of his love for the flag and what it represented.

In unison, the firing party begins to volley
A 21-gun salute, because a hero he embodied.

And then in this hallowed ground,
The melody of Taps begins to sound.

There isn't a dry eye in this place,
As emotion begins to overtake.

The honor bell rings its solemn toll,
And pride wells up within her soul.

The flag is folded one last time and placed in her lap,
Her lips quiver as she tries to hold the tears back.

The soldier says, "Ma'am, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation
For your loved one's service to our nation."

As the final prayer is spoken and he's lowered in the ground,
Two soldiers offer a final salute to this man who once stood so proud.

I'm frightened by the enormity of the mountains that surround me,
Blinded by the darkness of troubles of which the end I cannot see.

I'm drowning in worry and my soul is weary,
These burdens I can no longer carry.

This is known as "The Valley," a place of deep despair,
With no hope in sight, I fall to my knees in prayer.

"Lord, this journey is too hard, and I feel so alone,
And I'm so afraid of all the unknowns."

The Lord took me by the hand,
And in that moment, he helped me to understand.

He said, "My child, though the valley can be painful, it is a place of beauty,
For it's in these moments you experience me fully.

It's here where I hear your cries,
And where faithlessness dies.

It's a place of low-lying rivers where your thirst can be quenched,
And green pastures that offer you a place to reflect.

It's a place where I'll carry you when you can't take another step,
And I'll tell you about the tears I collected as you wept.

It's a place where you'll learn perseverance,
And one where you'll discover your purpose.

It's a journey where testimonies are made,
And one where when you look back, you will sing my praise.

So, no matter how painful, look for the beauty; just open your eyes,
For it is then that you'll see me walking by your side."

A match was struck that ignited the flame.
Now ashes and rubble are all that remain.

Defeated, she's left standing alone,
As her soul cries out in wordless groans.

Clouds of smoke consume her, and tears cut her dusty face.
Her grief lay heavy like the smoky haze.

Singed and covered in embers and ash,
Evidence of her battles present and past.

Broken and weak she had grown tired,
And all she could see was the fire.

She had dreamed of being a warrior, but she was afraid,
And in this moment, herself she had betrayed.

And then off in the distance, a shadow among the dancing blaze,
Walking toward her, a woman, strong and brave.

A warrior, wielding a sword and her battle cry loud.
She ran into battle and confidently howled.

She would stop at nothing to help those in need,
For her roots of strength ran deep.

She was fearless and disciplined in patient determination,
And the girl was filled with awe and admiration.

She was the woman she prayed she would be.
Then the woman, seeing the girl, held her hand out and said, "Come with me."

"Let me show you the strength you hope to find.
It's not something that's given but learned and refined."

As she looked the warrior in the eyes, she noticed a familiarity,
And for the first time, the girl saw her battles with clarity.

The warrior woman was her all along.
Each battle she faced was only making her strong.

"These battles are the answer to what you have prayed,
For warriors aren't born, they're made."

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.

He was the geeky kid, carrying all of his books,
That became a scientist who found the cure for the disease that overtook.

She was the quiet one, who was afraid no one would listen to what she had to say,
Who is now the author that writes her words for thousands to read on a page.

He was the naughty boy, whose antics were a cry for help,
That became a cop because he knows how it felt.

She was the nervous, anxious girl, who took on everyone's problems,
That wanted to help others and became a psychologist with a doctorate.

He was the kid that was always in a fight,
Who became a lawyer that wants wrong turned right.

He was the jock that was under pressure to win the game,
Who became a pastor that tells people they are more than what others say.

She was the quirky girl trying to break free from the mold,
That became the fashion designer who is known for being bold.

She was the mean girl with only ugly words to say,
Who is now an advocate for other victims in pain.

But he was the kid that faded into the background,
The one who felt alone even when there was a crowd.

The one who felt like he was gasping for air.
Even though he was drowning; people were unaware.

He was the one whose inner demon had a voice that was too loud,
That told him there was no other way out.

He's the kid I often think about,
The one whose silence should have been a reverberating volume of sound.

He is the one that we'll never know what he could have become,
Because he was the kid who found the gun.