BETWEEN THE MONSTERS AND THE WEAK.
In silent rows of blue and gold they stood beneath the rain
that fell to earth like angel’s tears amid the sad refrain.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, the notes hung on the air,
a last goodbye, a muffled cry, a word of whispered prayer.
And as beneath the flag I go to take my final rest,
my duty done, I leave you one, a lingering request.
To raise a glass in memory of all the good I’ve done;
To now and then tell stories of the races that I won.
Go start with all the bad guys – ones we lost and ones we caught,
of derring-do, heroics too, the battles that we fought.
But then recall with laughter all the mishaps we created,
the flubs and goofs, the pranks and spoofs, their telling oft-inflated.
But given time let stories turn to things that really mattered,
the ones we served who need us most, the broken and the battered.
Those who call in fear of violent spouse or muggers on the street,
and those stranded on a highway in a night of snow and sleet.
Don’t feel the need to mention all the burdens that we carried,
the awful sights and sounds and smells, the echoes we keep buried.
That’s just the price we pay to be the ones who charge the fray,
to rush into the worst of times when others run away.
It doesn’t matter when or where, it matters not the danger,
We race as though to help a friend when called on by a stranger.
And maybe just remind the few, if ill of us they speak,
that we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak.
— Michael Marks, October 2021
that fell to earth like angel’s tears amid the sad refrain.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, the notes hung on the air,
a last goodbye, a muffled cry, a word of whispered prayer.
And as beneath the flag I go to take my final rest,
my duty done, I leave you one, a lingering request.
To raise a glass in memory of all the good I’ve done;
To now and then tell stories of the races that I won.
Go start with all the bad guys – ones we lost and ones we caught,
of derring-do, heroics too, the battles that we fought.
But then recall with laughter all the mishaps we created,
the flubs and goofs, the pranks and spoofs, their telling oft-inflated.
But given time let stories turn to things that really mattered,
the ones we served who need us most, the broken and the battered.
Those who call in fear of violent spouse or muggers on the street,
and those stranded on a highway in a night of snow and sleet.
Don’t feel the need to mention all the burdens that we carried,
the awful sights and sounds and smells, the echoes we keep buried.
That’s just the price we pay to be the ones who charge the fray,
to rush into the worst of times when others run away.
It doesn’t matter when or where, it matters not the danger,
We race as though to help a friend when called on by a stranger.
And maybe just remind the few, if ill of us they speak,
that we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak.
— Michael Marks, October 2021
