In this box

In this box-
carved out of gilded oak-
upon it's silk lined interior,
lies a martyr.
Medals, shining gold and silver,
and satin ribbons every color of the rainbow,
sit, proudly displayed for the world to see,
upon a too still chest.
Brown eyes covered with lids worn thin,
seemingly lost in serene sleep.
Nary a frown upon made-up brows-
the irony remains cruelly stark.
Hands clad in khaki uniform,
hiding away burnt flesh.
No matching pants for the legs; there aren't any.
A blanket, concealing this from sensitive eyes.
All everyone can see is a hero,
perfect in death as in life.
All I can see are fragments,
of who used to be the apple of my eye.
All I can feel, if anything at all,
is remorse, of not being able to see the eyes
that shone, with undiminished glee,
every time he squealed "Daddy!"
All that is going through my head,
is that terrible news bulletin,
that took my world apart in moments,
depositing them neatly in this coffin.
There is the salute of twenty one guns,
the heady smell of smoke lingers;
there is no pride, none at all,
I do not want it,
at the cost of losing my son.

Author's Note

Written for a contest. Not my best work. The aim was to be creative as possible but eh, I'm lazy and morbid things are so much easier to write! :P

Reviews

[Bee C.]

Why are morbid things so easy to write? It's a question I ask myself a lot.

But anyway! This is very poignant and touching. It just carried me along as I read it. For the first few lines I thought perhaps the narrator was looking at his own medals, but it hit me not long after. There's a truth and a tragedy in this - which is only to be expected for this topic, but is always worth pointing out. This is really well done, you should be pleased with it. Good luck in the contest! :P