a Box.

One of my teachers and women dearest to my heart posted this poem that her daughter had written.  In honor of Memorial Day and our fallen heroes...

I AM BUT A BOX

My Weary Soldier,

when this wretched war,
full of flying bullets
and haunting drones,
buried mines beneath the feet
of brothers,
and sudden midnight explosions
tearing into dreams
of a pleasant place,

when this desolate struggle
steals
the courageous beat
of your unfailing heart,

I am here.
My Brave,

when in sorrowful sacrifice
the gleaming blood
that sustained you
slowly seeps onto sand
and dries black
in the merciless sun,
when in solemn suffering
you release the last
breath
to ever fill your 
relentless chest,
when you leave this
bitter battlefield
for sweet peace,

I am here.

Though I be
mere trees
formed to frame
a humble, hollow space,

My Valiant,
you never knew wood
to be so secure
as when I cradle you
across the invisible boundaries
of foreign lands,
bear you
above the threatening depths
of endless oceans,
steady you
against the magnificent wind
whirling around our world,
fueling the rippling flags below.

My Strong,
I will keep you safe.
Though uncertainty may try
to vigorously pry
you from my beloved embrace,
I will never let you go.

No, My Allegiant,
I shall bring you home
though circumstance
may postpone me,
and danger may confront me.

Under ardent guard
of your uniformed devoted,
I will carry you for
dauntless days;
Dedicated, I too shall
return to the dust,
your comforting company
for eternity.

My Comrade,
I am your faithful fortress,
your steadfast rest,
though I do not deserve
to ever serve
one noble as thyself,
a selfless soul
earning such honor

as thy 
venerated 
self.

My Loyal,
I will lie beside
for that long, somber ride
together held close
by those three colors of pride
on a brilliant banner,
together
wrapped so gently by
that flag for which you died.

I am here,
for you have won
and I will secure you
forever on.

My Purpose,
I will never leave you,
but rather be buried
alongside,
beneath the
screaming sphere
on which we lived,
encompassing your
fragile figure—

I am
but a box,
crafted to carry heroes home,
holding hard,
and never letting go.

by Alexandra DeFelice