The road of war is paved with heroes blood; rains of sadness and tears turn the dirt to mud.
From the heavens on high a hero rises, who falls with each of his sacrifices.
The flag he carried then torn and tattered was once brilliant and noble, not battered.
The silence long and surreptitious, no ending veiled by brilliance.
'A hero need not speak for when he is gone, the world will speak for him.'
And risen from the ashes comes a follower, a person of strength, will, and courage.
Heroes are born from the ashes of the fallen.
Comments about this poem (Heroes by Michael Hammer )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley