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Contributor: Gary Jacobson || Poem Categories

Some Mother's Son country as flag
Some Mother's son I never knew
Lays fallen dead on foreign shores
Shorn of worldly essence in shadowy violence hue
So forever to god's of war his mother implores...

Some Mother's son lies �neath cold, cold ground
Planted ignominiously by insidious foe
Worlds away some mother cries a sad and mournful sound
Fearing beguiling devil's her son too soon will know.

Memories of some Mother's son fade quickly to dust
To "the world" his remembrance now just a blur
His memory lost in battled mist of terror and fuss
But always held fast in the mourning heart of her...

Some Mother's son went to fight for duty just
He never made protest or stir...
For to do his duty he must;
To do less would seem an ungrateful cur...

Some mother's son war spirits tore
Gone marching into the maw of vile death's combat chore
Praying mightily to The Master earth and skies adore
To lessen the sting of enemy slings and arrows sore.

For some mother's sons saw the very worst of war
Felt fear to the bone... faith not always enough
Leaving but a shell of a man for "the world" to abhor.
For trust in God cruel war does rebuff.

Some mother's sons have looked death in the eyes
Heard that evil temptresses cackling cajole
Barely escaping the demon's gory maw; he rises
Yet feels hoary breath caressing his warrior soul.

Some mother's sons feel the devil's pain
Feel evil fingers encircling their warrior's heart
Forevermore on darkening shadowed souls to rain
Feeling the aching of pure evil's fiercest dart.
By Gary Jacobson
Copyright 2007
Listed October 9, 2010

About Author... In 1966-67, Gary Jacobson served with B Co 2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry in Vietnam as a combat infantryman and is the recipient of the Purple Heart.

Gary, who resides in Idaho writes stories he hopes are never forgotten, perhaps compelled by a Vietnamese legend that says, "All poets are full of silver threads that rise inside them as the moon grows large." So Gary says he writes because "It is that these silver threads are words poking at me � I must let them out. I must! I write for my brothers who cannot bear to talk of what they've seen and to educate those who haven't the foggiest idea about the effect that the horrors of war have on boys-next-door."

Visit Gary Jacobson's site for more information

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