Mark I. Kirkmeyer


Blue sky, white waves, and silver sand
An old warrior, watching the break, he stand
Jungle boots, desert fatigues, boonie hat
In his arms to pet a black cat
Sword at waist held by a silver band

Face half dark approaches a young miss
Chill of death the black cat warns with a hiss
When will it end, please death goddess tell
This service of bringing souls to you, hell
You will serve ‘til, I bring you, my kiss

My lady. I have served, well for years
Many widows I’ve made their eyes shed tears
Families to tell why their sons had to die
Because of secrets I have to lie
For my nation, I have tears

I will no longer serve you, goddess
You will or receive my redress
Old warrior stands and drops his guns
Other weapons he draws and shuns
You cannot deny your mistress

Chariots descend from on high
Slicing into a nation’s pride
Shock, disdain, loss, and sorrow
Lady, hell will serve in the morrow
Terrorist have no place to hide

You are too old and your body’s to frail
Your skin is weak, old and pale
You have to sit home, watch and see
What your protégé, were trained to be
You prepared them for every detail

I am old and broken you are right
That does not mean I cannot stand and fight
Do you accept me again
Will you send me more men
Give me a chance, hell, I just might.