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MURMURS AT THE WALL I am here today at the Wall, a witness for my brother. I will be his eyes and his ears, and will trace these precious names for him. I will be guided in my steps, and I will pause, prompted by him. I know some of the names will be names of those he served with, names he would want honored so. I walk along, and I trace and say aloud, name after name, and I join the tears of those focused on a special name, and I join in the memory of the moment. I stare at bits and pieces of notes left behind by those who loved someone well, and of the flowers and of all the love left behind. I think of what those men and women behind the names, endured in keeping America for us. And I think, with shame, of those of our own, who shouted at them and insulted them, when they were back home in the land of the free. There is a soft murmur, a low and a musical hum, and I like to think, the murmur is the sound ,at last, of a grateful nation. And I think even more of the love that was forever theirs, and somehow, I feel my brother's touch, as , in only one sense, I slowly leave the wall behind. copyright 2000 by Roland Ricker |
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| Links to Related Poems: Yes, I Remember You Beyond Old Glory Thank You, God, For America As Our Flag Flies Half Mast |
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