Mother’s Heroes

Stanza 1

As a parapet he stood

            Tall and proud

            His armor a testament to the crowd

A symbol of chivalry they all understood

            Beloved by all person

            Renowned for his bravery

            And yet so quite quickly, his spirit did much worsen 

            His soul dark by the cords of self-slavery.

            More often than not his heart did give way

            And left he was with nothing to say

            Except his shaking frame before the array

            Of the awful spectacle, the battlefield display

            It was in those moments, of anguish torment

            That he remembered who taught him of strength like cement

            That to fear was okay and normal to tremble

            Was his mother, simple and gentle

Stanza 2

            The tattered flag waved stripes of blue, white and red.

            Above the smoking ruins of the revolutionaries’ battlements

            A man stood worn and dirty, a symbol of the cities inhabitants

            His shoulders were slumped and bowed was his head

            The cause… gloriously triumphant

            Like a beaming bright day

            The dreams of new judgement

            Justice for those with the say

            Now he felt it was for naught

            The folly fancies he had sought

            Were just as dead as the men who were shot

            By the fighting they had so ignorantly wrought

            But his heart was comforted by the words of a woman

            Who had predicted this end as though an oracle’s summon

            “When all is not right, and the world seems so rent,

            Your soul is not conquered and will rise to accent.

Stanza 3

             He trembled and shook

            Crouched down with the rest

            They were just boys not even the best

            His body too scared to bother a look.

            For out there in the distance was imminent death

            Brother against brother

            His was called Seth

            And though he was family he chose the wrong color

            His finger quivered on the trigger of his gun

            He knew his mother had raised both as her son

            How utterly scared his body had become

            On eve of battle before the dawning of the sun

            As the terrible sounds of war boomed forth

            Out rose from the trees the armies of the north

            The young man felt the hands of his dearest ma

            Pulling him up, reminding him to clench his jaw

Stanza 4

            The history books remember the valor

            But little is paid to the one with no glamour

            She is not seen in the knight’s armor

            Or shown in the revolution’s charmer

            Not honored on the blood stained battlefield

            But is present to help a heart be healed.

            We may see conquering heros of great strength

            When we read of our history is all its great length

            But the hero is made

            By mother whose head is bowed and always has prayed

            That her hero, her child, her children so dear

            Will always remember the one who is near

            Praying her children think of their conviction

            And their faith

            And their celestial recognition

            For she had taught them with wisdom

            With the zeal of a mother-parent

            Whose only wish was to raise children

            Who would shine so stunningly iridescent.