It is by the tears that are spilled with the accompaniment of blood that they have earned our memorials. It is by the time they sacrificed and the security they abandoned that they have earned our remembrances. They are living souls fighting in the whispers of legends.
Forgetting privilege, they survive on the notion that there is goodness and careful justice in the choices our leaders make. They believe there is reason to protect and reason to prevail- even when charging the fields of another man’s war.
They speak of honor and make oaths to an empire. When the minutes pass like hours in the throes of chaos, they pray to a god they may not know and endure rather than succumb to a villain they know too well. They live in a world that showers both ally and enemy with metal raindrops. And if the light fades and if the cold sets in they remain in hope; their lives and the lives or their comrades weren't lost in vain.
They are soldiers. Trained fighters. Trained guardians. Through their sorrows and their successes history is made. Whether you’re an impassioned patriot or an indifferent citizen, there is nobility in a soldier’s story and that must be acknowledged. Whether you find war justifiable or inexcusable, a soldier’s story is poetic. They are not the poems of idyllic melodies but percussive darkness. They are poems that litter the pages of every written history in all of mankind.
|Photo by Rebecca Reale|