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"Don't tell God how big your storm is, tell the storm how big your God is."

The marine stood and faced God,

Which much always come to pass.

He hoped his shoes were shining

Just as brightly as she brass.

"Step forward now, Marine.

How shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek?

To My Church have you been true?"

The soldier squared his shoulders and said,

"No, Lord. I guess I aint.

Because those of us who carry guns,

Can't always be a saint.

 

"I've had to work most Sundays

And at times my talk was tough.

And sometimes I've been violent,

Because the world is awfully rough.

 

"But, I never took a penny,

That wasn't mine to keep...

Though I worked alot of overtime,

When the bills got just to steep.

 

"And I never passed a cry for help,

Though at times I shook with fear.

And sometimes, God, forgive me,

I've wept unmanly tears.

 

"I know I don't deserve a place,

Among the people here.

They never wanted me around,

Except to calm their fears.

 

"If you've a place for me here, Lord,

It needn't be so grand.

I never expected or had to much,

But if you don't, I'll understand."

 

There was a silence all around the throne,

Where the saints had often trod.

As the Marine waited quietly,

For the judgment of his God.

"Step forward now, you Marine,

Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,

You've done your time in Hell."

~Author Unknown~

It's the Soldier, not the reporter,

Who has given us the freedom of the press.

It's the Solder, not the poet.

Who has given us the freedom of speech.

It's the Soldier, not the politicians,

That ensures our right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

It's the Soldier who salutes the flag,

Who serves beneath the flag,

And whose coffin is draped by the flag.

~ I really hope you read this. It explains a lot that some folks don't get.

This poem was written by a Marine.

Monsters and the Weak By Michael Marks. ~

 

The sun beat like a hammer, not a cloud in a the sky.

The mid-day air ran thick with dust, my throat was parched and dry.

With microphone clutched tight in hand and cameraman in two,

I ducked beneath a fallen roof, surprised to hear "Stay low".

My eyes blinked several times before in shadow I could see,

The figure stretched a croos the rubble, steps away from me.

He wore a cloak of burlap strips, all shades of gray and brown,

That  hung in tatters till he seemed to melt into the ground.

He never turned his head or took his eyes from off the scope,

But pointed through the broken wall and down the rocky slope.

"About eight hundred yards." He said, his whispered words concise,

"Beneath the baggy jacket he is wearing a device."

A chill ran up my spine despite the swelter of the heat,

"You think he's gonna set it off along the crowded street?"

The sniper gave a weary sigh and said, "I wouldn't doubt it,"

"Unless there's some thing this old gun and I can do about it."

A thunder clap, a tongue of flame, the still abruptly shattered;

While citizens that walked the street were just as quickly scattered.

Til only one remained, a body crumpled on the ground,

The threat to oh so many ended by a single round.

And yet the sniper had no cheer, no hint of any gloat,

Instead he pulled a log book out and quietly he wrote.

"Hey, I could put you on TV, that shot was quite astory!"

But he surprised me once again - "I got no wish for glory."

"Are you for real?" I asked in awe. "You don't want fame or credit?"

He looked at me with saddened eyes and said "You just don't get it."

"You see that shot-up length of wall, the one without a door?

Before a mortar hit, it used to be a grocery store."

"But don't go thinking that to bomb a store is all that cruel,

The rubble just a cross the street- it used to be a school.

The little kids played soccer in the field out by the road,"

His head hung low, "They never thought a car would just explode."

"As bad as all this is though, it could be a whole lot worse."

He swallowed hard, the words came from his mouth just like a curse.

"Today the fight's on foreign land, on streets that aren't my own,"

"I'm here today 'cause if I fail, the next fight's back at home."

"And I won't let my Safeway burn, my neighbors dead inside,

"Don't wanna get a call from school that says my daughter died;

"I pray that not a one of them will know the things I see

"Nor have the of terrorists etched in thier memory."

"So you can keep your trophies and your fleeting bit of fame,

I don't care if I make the news, or if they speak my name."

He glanced towards the camera and his brow began to knot,

"If your looking for a story, why not give this one a shot."

"Just tell the truth of what you see, without the saint or spin;

"That most of us are ok and we're coming home again.

"And why not tell our folks back home about the good we're done,

"How when they see Americans, the kids come at a run."

"You tell 'em what it means to folks here just to speak their mind,

"Without the fear that tyranny is just a step behind;

"Describe the desert miles they walk in their first chance to vote,

"Or ask a soldier if he's proud, I'm sure you'll get a quote."

He turned and slid the rifle in a drag bad thickly padded,

Than looked again with eyes of steel as quietly he added;

"And maybe just remind the few, if ill of us they speak,

"That we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak."

~Michael Marks - January 25. 2006

Please, always remember our 'defenders' in you prayers.~