The Salute

The soldier sweats one lonely river

From the corner of his eye

While a tributary drop forms

Rains of pain

For his wounded comrade

 

Nostrils flare

Inhaling Injury he bears

His own hurt and friend’s agony

Wondering how it could be

 

Not knowing what to do

He salutes

Tattered red, white, and navy blue

Still flying high

In pure Robin’s egg sky

 

Stained by murky battle

Stars fade into dirty white

No longer bright

While red bleeds

Into soon to be night

And inhuman screams

Remind of the jungle’s dying cry

As one man takes his death breath