Poems by Jodi M. Kucera

No presents bought, no candles blown; this year you walk on streets of gold,
And it's so much more than the stories you've been told.

The sun is shining on your face,
and you're standing in all of God's good grace.

There were people there to meet you at that pearly gate.
Promise for me there too you will wait.

The angels no longer sing from up above;
but hand in hand together, you sing about God's love.

No more pain, no more strife,
but the gift of eternal life.

The sufferings of this world are left behind.
You made your mark; your life was not left undefined.

You told people of your Savior's love and how he died for you and me
so we could spend our time praising him for all eternity.

Someday we'll meet again,
for time is just a vapor in the wind.

But until that day comes, I will miss you every day.
I just wanted to wish you a happy heavenly birthday.

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.

I've been hunted by the enemy and held my breath,
I've listened to it playing all around me, the melody of death.

Silence is the prelude, but it won't last long.
That's when you know things are about to go wrong.

As the sound of gunfire begins to play,
I know it's meant for me; if you will, a sort of serenade

To draw me out of the shadows and into the fight,
But I already have the enemy in sight.

The percussion joins in with explosions going off all around,
Showing no signs of backing down.

The ground tremors with the humming of the tanks,
The .90-millimeter main guns don't care about rank.

I've dodged bullets that were dancing all around.
Some weren't as lucky, and they fell to the ground.

The cries of young soldiers are not shadowed by the sounds of war;
They are the sounds that haunt you forevermore.

They all played in sync in this melodic song.
Some of us left, but our memories have never gone.

A sound or a movement is all it takes,
And I'm right back there in that God-forsaken place.

So please take a moment and try to understand.
Soldiers never come back the same man.

We're haunted by the melody that plays in our minds,
Because the song never changes; it only rewinds.

A man walked up to me some time ago.
He had a story he wanted me to know.

He reached out his hand to shake mine,
And it took me back to a place and time.

He told me he was a soldier in World War II,
A POW in Moosburg; sad but true.

As he began to tell the story, I could see in his eyes,
He'd gone back to that place in his mind.

He said "110,000 men walked through those gates.
The Nazis were filled with nothing but hate.

The camp was thronged
And we knew our stay there would be long.

The floor was hard and the nights were cold.
Young men grew malnourished and old.

They must have feared me because I was put in a cage,
And all I could do was pray.

I cannot tell you how many days I was there,
Only that every day I said the same prayer.

I asked the Lord to send someone our way,
to get us out of there and take us far away.

On April 25,1945,
He sent someone just when I was ready to give up and die.

The Fourteenth Armored Division came crashing through.
It was The Liberators, with a job to do.

They were there to set us free!"
And with a smile he said, "Everyone erupted with glee.

A soldier came running my way,
And he reached down and opened my cage.

After all these years I never forgot that man's face or what he did for me.
My only regret, I didn't get to thank him when I got up from bended knee.

Now he's standing in front of me shaking my hand.
So thank you sir, because you were that man."

We have an understanding, you and I.
We sit in silence; nothing needs to be said.

I know the weight you carry.
You hold your head high, but inside you cry.

The life of a soldier is not an easy one.

Memories haunt you!
But you stand tall and show no fear.

The life of a soldier is not an easy one.

You hear voices of days past come rushing to your head.
You think to yourself, "He was a good one; why is he dead?"

You wonder if you should have done things differently.
No time to think, only react.

The life of a soldier is not an easy one.

The guilt is too much to bear.
Although you were wounded, you question,

"Why him and not me?"
You can't forget the faces that were there.

The life of a soldier is not an easy one.

We have an understanding, you and I.
You're a soldier for life; and it has not been an easy one.

You look at me and only see the cracks,
Fractured, like a piece of glass.

Some are shallow and straight,
Created by silently carrying so much weight.

Others are round and splayed like stars,
Words, a solar system of scars.

Some are deep and cut to my core,
From trials I thought I could no longer endure.

Some hold tightly to splintering shards that still cut,
A painful reminder every time they are touched.

Others are jagged and worn,
And some are occupied with scorn.

Some of them are lessons,
Regretfully brought on by my own transgressions.

All of them create an intricate mosaic of intertwined lines,
Reminders of the things I’ve survived.

A prismatic display of beauty and strength;
Though I am fractured, I did not break.