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The flag raises in the morning, with every soldier saluting it's glory.
To the sound of reveille, holding it's glory high. Giving off a feeling of life.
A soldier stands by his brothers as he can imagine the flag flying through the air.
Then saddened when it's over, and he knows he's not back at the fort.
He no longer hears reveille, but a chant from the natives prayers.
Standing hollow as he remembers the sound of the flag flying high as the wind holds it's grace.
At once the chanting comes to a halt, as he feels a chill come over him, he remembered the day he'd been hit by his first mortar attack.
He looked to his west, and felt the awe of what was happening.
Where children would play soccer, there was only wind blowing the blood stained dirt.
There wasn't a noise, near the gate, or a vehicle in sight.
In shock he stood waiting for the security he had in seeing the children play.
But it came in screams, pouring down from the heavens.
Screams that made the ground shake, and smoke fill the air.
He remembered this all too well, because the screams haunted him in his sleep.
His eyes opened wide as he his legs carried him to shelter, but the scream of tyranny struck him on his way.
The vision of his son playing baseball, his wife beauty even in the dead of night.
He saw his parents, who he'd left in tears, the day he'd enlisted.
With a sharp voice he recognized as he own thought from the day he left them.
I'm going to make them proud.
The silence began to take a hold again, as he lay, struck.
Only this time, he heard the sound of a whipping noise, as he looked up to see the flag.
Still dancing in the face of fear, to the wind.
He felt a warm feeling, come from inside, as the world began to blur around him, only leaving the flag clear in his vision.
A knock came to a door, where his mother stood. To a man in uniform with a letter, and the American flag.
She screamed in spite, as her husband carried her away from the door.
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