Memorial Day Musing

"I thank God for my life, / for the stars and stripes. / May freedom forever fly; / let it ring. / Salute the ones who died, / those ones that gave their lives / so we don't have to sacrifice / all the things we love;"
~ "Chicken Fried" by Zac Brown Band

After years of going to the memorial service of my grandfather's Veterans of Foreign Wars post (VFW), a phrase has stuck with me: "we honour the victorious dead." I find myself thinking of this statement at various points throughout the year. The "victorious dead," an odd phrase referring to those who died in during their time of service. This is especially pertinent for this VFW post that honours a WWII Japanese American captain who jumped on a grenade to save the rest if his regiment. Kazuo Masuda never lived to see the victory he helped to win but he is honoured still for his sacrifice. And so are all who have fallen in the line of duty. Today*, we pay you do honour and respect. We who enjoy the benefits of your sacrifice declare you victorious, even in death, and thank you for the tomorrows we enjoy at the cost of yours.

For those who serve now and those who served and lived, we honour you as well for putting yourselves on the alter of freedom on our behalf. In defense of loved ones and strangers, you have risked all. For that, we are forever in your debt.

Finally, I'd like to personally thank Jichan, Uncle Chris, Jeremy, Mr. Cristetto, Scott, and Luke for fighting, in the past and the present, in my defense and all that I hold dear. I will never be able to fully express my gratitude or repay my debt. So I thank you from the bottom of my heart and promise to never forget what you have done for me.

*I meant to publish this on Memorial Day but didn't get around to posting it til a day later.

On the River and the Road

I really should get around to writing when I am not requested to if I really want to be a novelist but such is the way life is at the moment. This is a poem I wrote for an event at school that was held on the feast day of St. Christopher. Professor Gaelan Gilbert, who organized the event, asked me to write something with the theme of travel since it was the end of the semester and people would be travelling and since St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers.

On the River and the Road

I read “The road goes ever on and on.”

Great wisdom did it sound, in truth, so I

Upon the threshold stood and looked anon

To see if some small path I could espy

Run forth from hearth to meet expansive sky.

But all was dark and overgrown, much more

Like some great wilderness from times gone by.

I dared not venture forth, alone and poor;

'Tis dangerous to step outside one's door.

On route far off, a man with burden great,

Two beams of wood upon his bended back,

I watched him stumble, fall beneath the weight

Behind a hill. I ran for fear his pack

Had overwhelmed its bearer and through lack

Of strength, the man now lay alone and hurt.

However, I was taken quite aback

To see not man nor beams upon the dirt,

Instead, to find a child very much alert.

The clouds drew cloaks of grey o'er Phoebus' face

And threatened storms with rumbling thunder drums.

I tried to lead the child to a safer place

But he continued on the road, past slums

And farms, past ruling king and man who plumbs,

With something like warm kindness in his eye.

But then he came to where the road becomes

A shore upon the riverbank. Nearby

The ferryman with ugly face rose high.

Upon his shoulders climbed and sat the child.

The man began to cross the river broad

As winds convulsed the waters as if wild.

With every step, the storm grew loud and cawed

While he seemed to lean longer on his rod

'Til midway through, it looked as if they'd sink.

Yet he still walked and reached the shore. I, awed

By strength of will and faith pushed to the brink,

Was left on further shore alone to think.

But lo, the child turned 'round with hand outstretched,

A hand, I saw, which had been scarred by nails.

His eyes drew mine with love and sorrow etched.

The ferryman returned amidst the gales,

Extending to me a hand that never fails.

I took that hand and found myself alone

Beyond the threshold, on the road, with dales

And mountains growing clear 'neath sun that shone

Anew betwixt the clouds that soon were flown.

So there I stood without my haven’s door,

Exposed to all unknowns that could befall,

Whate’er that man or Nature had in store.

Fear gripped my heart with thoughts of pain and gall.

But then a wind blew past my face, a call,

A whisper spoke my name within the breeze,

Which calmed and courage brought to my heart small.

I found I need not be at such unease
When unseen hands will hold in troubled seas.