American Soldier, Freedom & Christmas Poem by Tom Zart

AMERICAN SOLDIER

It’s not a priest that gives us our freedom of religion
And it’s not a reporter that gives us our freedom of voice.
It’s not any judge, lawyer, politician, or teacher
But the blood of a soldier that has sacrificed by choice.

Our soldiers line up to be remembered
As the best of the best at their job.
They wish to be needed and depended on
To save all we love from the mob.

They risk their life and limb for liberty
Standing firm against evil unwilling to break.
To be part of something greater than themselves
They are willing to sacrifice whatever it will take.

FREEDOM

In their new uniforms
The young march off
Not knowing who shall return.
With a proud devotion
They brandish their flag
Leaving loved ones to wonder and yearn.

May we all be buried
By all of our children
Is an ancient tribal prayer.
They're so easy to lose
But so hard to forget
Such a burden for a parent to bear.

Oh, the taste of victory
Shall soon be forgotten
But, never that which was lost.
For those rows of white headstones
In peaceful green fields
Make it easy to tally the cost.

America has survived all attempts to destroy
Knowing the cruelty of war
And, we who remain
Must help keep her free
For those who can march no more!

CHRISTMAS

Husbands with ladders hang lights on their home
As all who have no one feel sad and alone.
The churches are full of the faithful that sing
For the birth of our Lord, is a spiritual thing.

The sound of Christmas sweetly fills the air
While frantic shoppers hustle from here to there.
The windows of storefronts at this time of year
Reflect all their wonders as Christmas draws near.

Little ones stand looking with their nose pressed to glass
As model trains on display come speeding past.
The path to Santa is lined with girls and boys
With a list in their heart of their favorite toys.

The stores shelves are crammed with dolls that crawl or walk
Games, cars, trucks, planes and stuffed toys that sing or talk.
The miracle of Christmas comes once a year
When all that we love seems more precious and dear.

By God’s Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
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