Tuesday, November 11, 2014

                               by Sandra Moulin

He laces them up, soles down
He stands tall with pride coursing
through veins on alert 
for what’s to come

His heels beat in perfect rhythm
to numbered commands in cadence
as sweat pours from young brows
intense and focused

leather entrenched in mud
deafening thunder exploding 
a boot flies off
another buried

soles face heavenward from bended knee
next to brothers silenced
the shine is gone
a nation mourns

a single horn 
sends all soles to touch
the hallowed ground
for which his steps echo into eternity