The Star-Spangled Banner, a song we all know,

In a country we love or hope to help grow.

The line near the end that expresses the wonder,

At seeing our flag not ripped asunder,

But waving, still proud, over the battlements high,

A symbol of hope in that bleak, morning sky.

It calls to my heart, my memories, my soul,

My experience of war, and testaments told.

For once way back when, in my young adult days,

Afghanistan was ruled by political malaise.

The war was ongoing, the soldiers still fought,

For a land filled with peace, for girls to be taught,

For reform and for growth, for stability throughout,

For safety from hatred, an inured redoubt.

We fought side by side in the country’s northeast,

With the Afghan military and local police,

To rid them of hate-filled terrorist scum,

To save men from what they’d unwillingly become.

On August the 6th, 2011,

38 souls were escorted to Heaven.

August the 8th in the late setting sun,

We lined up in formation, one by one.

I stood at attention with two hundred others,

As we bid a final farewell to our late, fallen brothers.

The night sky was dark, the moon never showed,

But the wind of grief blew, to take what was owed.

Our anger it bore, our love it devoured

We stood in a line and saluted for hours,

As casket after casket, all draped with our flag,

Each bearing a name and a single dog tag,

Were loaded aboard two military planes,

Two planes, not one, for so many remains,

Thirty-one of our country’s very best men,

Husbands and fathers, brothers and friends.

We wept for their families, their loved ones back home,

We wept for their Seal team, in that late evening gloam,

The toughest of men, the strongest of us all,

Could not even stand, but neither did fall.

They were held up by others, their bodies too weak,

Their grief-stricken minds overwhelmed their physique.

I have never again seen our flag the same way,

Neither would you, and neither would they.

If on August the 6th, you’d sat by my side,

Watching a Chinook and mountain collide,

38 bodies plus one loyal dog,

Were pulled from the rubble in dim morning’s fog.

Struck by an unlucky shot in the dark,

A sole RPG that *just* hit its mark.

The ‘Copter went down, and all aboard died,

While we watched from above; shocked and horrified.

Because even though you’re at war, day in and day out,

You can sometimes forget all the dangers about.

But eventually they catch up as they did me that day,

When all I could do was to weep and to pray,

That someday the world would be rid of all hate,

Purged of the evil, no vengeance to sate.

I will always stand up and fight what is wrong,

To help those who can’t, to make the weak strong.

But I dream of a world that’s united at last,

Where we can recognize beauty in the deepest contrast

Our differences to join us not tear us apart

A world where our soldiers don’t have to depart.

Freedom’s not free, neither is it cheap,

But what happens when the cost becomes much too steep?

When living with memories of violence and war,

Have shaken us indelibly right to our core.

The year I was there, the price that was paid,

Was much, much too high, a most unfair trade.

Too many were lost, too many fell,

Too many never came back from that Hell.

It’s been twelve years now but the memories won’t fade,

Of those 38 men and their sacrifice paid.

They fought for a better world for you and for me,

They gave everything they had, and now are set free.

But we’ll all soldier on, every day,

We’ll try to repair the world’s disarray .

We’ll make it our mission to spread only light,

To tamp down the hate, the revenge, and the spite.

We’ll do it for them, for the lives that they gave,

In this land that is free, because of the brave.