Poems by Jodi M. Kucera

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.

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 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."

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.

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.

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."