A Poem in prose.
Perhaps to all it is not quite clear. You are our reason for life. These fingers pen such tales and tell such woes only as you've allowed.
There is a courage that flows easier than water, courses through your veins that not all men will come to know. This liquid courage sobers, snaps to attention those who know nothing of sacrifice. And you stand tall in the face of all who have spat on graves and held signs, they who have marched on the hallowed ground and claimed to hold the truth.
And it is these very people who know not that their ability to slander has been provided by you. The ink of their doctrine is your blood, spilled out for the herds who follow without mind.
You possess spirit like no other. The firmness with which you grasp the concept of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is power which breaks all records of speed, all feats of strength. And rightfully so dear soldiers.
Reverence is paid not to the men in uniform, but to those in power. All operations are a result of the apparent superiority that is the leaders of this great nation. But beyond decision you are action. They are mere policy, you are the potency of all that is good. You require not merit, no words of wonder to befall you, like showers of gratitude given merely out of habit. You press on, your feet moving ever forward into the unknown of your future, knowing always what may come is a welcomed fate.
We are but children back at home soldiers. We wear such rings and taste these slaughtered calfs because you have provided. These cups, how they overfloweth with your good will, have been mistaken for mere holiday. We celebrate our freedom from the schedules which keep us from the drink. We ignite the flames to roast the meals of misconception. Somewhere in such a span of time you have been forgotten, removed from the front of our minds and placed away only to be uttered in passing in the briefest of thanksgiving.
Bot no longer shall I forget. And perhaps it is age that brings about awareness, but may it be more the knowledge that you are in the world, and regardless of these words of such tribute you continue. Persistence is not of your nurture but of your nature. You are different from the rest. And like life's simplest pleasures you are always present, however neglected you may be.
We can never thank thee enough. Like the existence of time, so too do you exist. Life goes on within you and without you. Just as the grass is green, the sky is blue, and the sea is deep, you are a natural beauty too often overlooked.
In memoriam of those who have come to pass, of those who continue to take up arms, of the spirit of a soldier ever present as time, I thank you. I may stand with pride, I may taste the joy that is my unending freedom, but I do so only because of you. This meal that is the beauty of life is bland without you, for you are the salt of the earth. May we break bread this day and drink of this wine made more rich because of this truth. We shall light a candle in your honor and say our prayers today, all these things in memoriam of you.