Leather Boots.

A poem-story about my time in the military. Just know, that no matter how much struggle you going through, eventually everything comes to an end.

There is no honor in tomatoes and potatoes

Dessert stones are crumbling beneath my boots,
Leaving particles of dust on leather surface.

Our shirts are soaked in sweat,
Damn rifles wrecking our shoulders,
But we continue marching on,
Singing patriotic songs.

I remember first arriving at the scene,
Receiving clothing, uniform, and socks.
Some were happy,
Others cried,
We turned the page,
A brand new chapter,
Of the next three years.

The expectations for my future,
Fallen low,
Once I received a notice,
Of joining kitchen squad.

“There is no honor in tomatoes and potatoes”,
Thought I to myself.

A slave can’t choose,
Only follows orders from above,
So did I,
Did as was commanded,
Cutting vegetables and meat.

Those days are pictured foggy,
Inside my frame of memory to date.
It’s all the same,
Cuts and bruises,
Day by day.

The time has done its holy duty,
Turned me into the master of knife and flavor.
Like some strange,
Syndrome of Stockholm,
I enjoyed my new profession,
Got respect from higher ranks,
Pushed the menu of my own.

Time exhilarating,
Speeding like a mount,
Helping me to cross,
That finish line of freedom.

What’s the moral of this story?
Possibly there is none,
But maybe more than one.

Bravery and honor,
Are not measured,
By your weapon, or quantity of medals on your chest.
Each of us is going through the hardships,
Deserving of respect.
And let’s be honest,
Every struggle,
Like this poem,
Has a beginning and the end.

Every struggle has beginning and the end.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

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