America has lost millions of its fathers, sons, daughters and brothers in the protection of the American spirit of freedom. Each war since the Civil War, heroism and the tragedy of death have been preserved in words and poems. I have collected a few of those words and want to share them with you so you will remember at this time of year the price of FREEDOM.

Civil War: “It Feels A Shame To Be Alive” by Emily Dickinson. “It feels a shame to be Alive–When Men so brave–are dead–One envies the Distinguished Dust–Permitted–such a Head”

“The Stone–that tells defending Whom-This Spartan put away-What little of Him we–possessed-in Pawn for Liberty”

“The price is great–Sublimely paid–Do we deserve–a Thing–That lives–like Dollars–must be piled

Before we may obtain?”

“Are we that wait–sufficient worth–That such Enormous Pearl…As life–dissolved be–for Us–In Battle’s–horrid Bowl?”

“It may be–a Renown to live–I think the Man who died–Those unsustained–Saviors–Present Divinity.”

With the horror of the mass killing in the French countryside, Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae was inspired to write on May 3, 1915 a poem that for many has become an anthem for the darkness of war. The poem is also widely known in the United States, where it is associated with Veterans Day and Memorial Day

World War 1; From Wikipedia ; By John McCrae; In Flanders fields the poppies blow – Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky – The larks, still bravely singing, fly scarcely heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago, we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw, The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die, We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.

The day before he wrote his famous poem, one of McCrae’s closest friends was killed in the fighting and buried in a makeshift grave with a simple wooden cross. Wild poppies were already beginning to bloom between the crosses marking the many graves. Unable to help his friend or any of the others who had died, John McCrae gave them a voice through his poem. It was the second to last poem he was to write.

World War 2; Yvor Winters; Elegy for the Fallen – Beneath sullen skies, they lay, Heroes who fought, then slipped away. Each name a story, bold and brave, Silent sentinels, by the grave. Fields once fierce, now quiet and still, Echoes of valor, against the chill. Tears of nations, blend with the rain, Mourning the lost, feeling their pain. Gone, yet their spirit forever remains, In whispered winds, over the plains.

Their sacrifice, a beacon, ever so bright, Guiding through darkness, into the light. Not just names etched in stone, But stars in the sky, brightly shone. A legacy of courage, deep and vast,

A bridge to the future, from the past. Let us remember, with every dawn,

Those valiant souls, now forever gone. For in their shadow, we find our own light, Honoring their memory, holding it tight.

Korea: “The Forgotten War” by Kim Chi Ha : “The forgotten war. The war that ended with an armistice.

The war that was fought, but not won. The war that left a divided nation. The war that silenced the cries of the fallen.”

Vietnam War:

All the Dead Soldiers; By Thomas McGrath ; In the chill rains of the early winter, I hear something–A puling anger, a cold wind stiffened by flying bone–Out of the north …and remember, then, what’s up there: That ghost-bank: home: Amchitka: boot hill ….They must be very tired, those ghosts; no flesh sustains them And the bones rust in the rain. Reluctant to go into the earth The skulls gleam: wet; the dog-tag forgets the name; The statistics (wherein they were young) like their crosses, are weathering out, They must be very tired. But I see them riding home, Nightly: crying weak lust and rage: to stand in the dark, Forlorn in known rooms, unheard near familiar beds: Where lie the aging women: who were so lovely: once….

Middle East Conflicts: The Brutal Game; Alex Cockersl: I’m sitting here now… Trying to put pen to paper… Try to write something that you can relate to. It’s hard to relate… To my personal circumstances…I’m out here in Afghanistan now…Taking my chances. Read what you read …And say what you say…You won’t understand it…Until you’ve lived it day by day. Poverty-stricken people …With medieval ways…Will take your life without a thought…And now we’re all the same…Each playing our part in this brutal game.

Since the beginning, America’s Veterans have died for Freedom. An easy word to say and boast of its great glory. But when the smoke clears and the winds of peace blow, we stand tall and proclaim victory for us all. But those who lay in quiet honored places of rest… and others blown into the winds of time on a forgotten battlefield or jungle. All those who share the brotherhood of an American Veteran shall always hold the hope America will be Free. If we, the living, never forget the price they paid for me.

My military duty took me to Fort Bliss in El Paso Texas in 1971. There I visited a converted barracks that had become a hospital ward for returning war casualties. Nearly 150 feet long and each side lined with simple metal framed beds. Each held a young soldier, most less than 20 years old. It was a place of pain, suffering and the stench of death. These young men like me left home uncertain of their future. They never foresaw a place of such pain and suffering. A place that rivals Hell in its abundance of suffering. Those images were a result of that war, but in my eyes still sees that dark place… for those who experienced it firsthand, the images live with in each of them as they look Through the Lens …Chuck Clegg USAF 1969-1973