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The Salute

The soldier sweats one lonely river
From the corner of his eye
While a tributary drop forms
Rains of pain
For his wounded comrade
Nostrils flare
Inhaling Injury he bears
His own hurt and friend’s agony
Wondering how it could be
Not knowing what to do
He salutes
Tattered red, white, and navy blue
Still flying high
In pure Robin’s egg sky
Stained by murky battle
Stars fade into dirty white
No longer bright
While red bleeds
Into soon to be night
And inhuman screams
Remind of the jungle’s dying cry
As one man takes his death breath

3 Mar 12

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(16 more poems by this author)

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