The Peace Grandfather Gave

There they are
Holding rifles in their hands.
Keeping their courage whole
As they fight for motherland.
There they are brash, young, and bold
This little story my grandfather told.

"They were my friends
Before the war was born,
Before the peace of land
Was greatly torn.
I was lucky to still keep my head
Yet, for my friends, they are all dead."

He then shed a tear,
Coughed, paused a bit
But his sadness was clear.
I told him then to take a rest
Instead, he took a breath,
Opened his mouth, then talked of death.

"We can't sleep at night
Always our weapons set.
If not, we might go down
By bullet or bayonet.
Yet, when we did have rest,
It was between the rain or forest pest.

Then more manly tears
Fell from his face
A silent, proud smile
Gave his friends noted praise
My grandfather then looked at me
Comparing his time with my reality.

"It's just sad
That even with the peace we gave
The world did not learn
And still put soldiers to their grave
But I believe you know what to do
With the peace I fought for you.

Years later, he suffered a stroke
He can no longer talk
And can barely walk.
This once hero of my peace-loving clan
Faced all the world's bullet
So we need not face one.