The Podcast Patriot

There are twenty five million who brag of America’s might,
Troopers , one in four of those who lack a bed tonight.
Neither food nor money, no market for their service or trades;
shiftless Soldiers, augured in battle that never fades

Lives on altar to the flag; tears seasoning an anthem song,
Sanguine sweat never to brag; alone with thoughts that long
for a time before they knew and for sight tinted like before
Their brothers smile and cheer, pat the backs and stomp the floor.

Silently standing outside their skin, they feel hollow and grey
Keen was the enemy’s eyes, but so not as keen as they;
“By the numbers,” a sergeant hugs his beautiful beige wall
He sharpens every sense before heading down the hall.

In his pocket he keeps a live 0.22 etched with his name
the bullet meant for him, sneaking it out of the game.
A year and a half later, even now, it’s still hidden there,
still sharpening senses before heading down the stair.

Attention slack, alone in the pack, his silent screams a shroud
Hollow are the hallowed “hip hip hurrahs” of the crowd
There are twenty five million who brag of America’s might,
Behold one in four homeless, heroes forgotten in the night.

The forgotten army, lean and forlorn:
The flags in their hearts tattered and torn.
A proud Soldier stands vigil over an eternal flame
Citizens glance crooked ignoring their shame.