More Reflections

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Prisoner of War
 I was there
my face tells the story
I was there
and I felt no glory
I was a prisoner of war.
So much to remember
more I'd rather forget
My life was changed forever
I'll never get over it.
Death marches and hunger
solitary confinement and pain.
Longing for my family and home
so far away.
I carry the scars
from those long, cold days
my heart and body ache
in many ways.
The chains have been broken
and the walls torn down
but in my mind I'll never be free
because a prisoner of war
I'll always be.
Jill V. Chandles
Copyrigh 1995, Spokane, Washington

I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.

A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.

I looked at him in uniform;
so young, so tall, so proud.
With hair cut square and eyes alert,
he'd stand out in any crowd.

I thought how many men like him
had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil;
how many mothers' tears?

How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?

I heard the sound of Taps one night,
when everything was still.
I listened to the bugler play
and felt a sudden chill.

I wondered just how many times
that Taps had meant 'Amen.'

When a flag had draped a coffin
of a brother or a friend.

I thought of all the children,
of the mothers and the wives,
of fathers, sons and husbands
with interrupted lives.


I thought about a graveyard
at the bottom of the sea.

Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.

God Bless Our Troops.