A Mothers Tears on Memorial Day

Memorial Day, it's the first long weekend of summer but is that all we've allowed it to become? Sure we put out our flags and use really cute red white and blue utensils as we gather with friends and family around the pool and barbecue but to we really appreciate what it is that we are celebrating?  
I think not, for myself included Memorial Day comes as a welcomed weekend full of barrel races, jackpot team ropings and good food with our family and friends. This year I wanted it to be different so I began reading poems about Memorial Day and looking at images of what our men and women are going through to give us this great home here on earth that we call America and I stumbled across this great poem by Amy Peterson that I've shared with you below. 
As you enjoy your day please keep our service men, women and their loved ones in your throughs and prayer and remember what memorial day is truly about. 

A Mother's Tear

© Amy Peterson

 
There's more to the story,
than what just appears.
A war written story,
from blood and from tears.
My son went to war,
a very proud man.
He fought in Iraq,
on the hot desert sands.
He witnessed his buddies,
his comrades, his men,
bleeding and dying,
he witnessed their end.
Where is Pvt. Tommy?
He's blown up all around,
his comrades spent hours,
picking him from the ground.
Sleeping in holes,
dug in the sand,
dreaming of home,
but it's become foreign land.
He can't tell his enemy,
from family or foe,
as he watches his friends sent out,
with tags on their toe.
He knows his Mama,
is sleepless like him,
and he tries to send word,
whenever he can.
He tries not to worry,
his family at home,
the horror that he faces,
he faces alone.
His mission is over,
he's sent back to me,
he fought for our freedom,
but he'll never be free.
He yearns for his buddies,
that died over there.
He's caught with the living,
in a doubled looped snare.
He screams in the night,
for the battle still roars,
as he lays in his bed,
he re-lives all the horror.
Nobody heard the fight,
he still fights,
except for his Mama,
who comforts him every night.
He never will be,
the son I once knew,
the war killed that part,
for freedom, for you.
Great Nation, Great Leaders,
and all those who will hear,
Freedom began
on a mother's first tear.

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