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Old Dust And Cigarettes
 
I saw him walking through the town
catching all the peoples’ stares.
Most were looking, not at the man,
but his clothes and long gray hair.

As he drew close, I caught the scent
of old dust and cigarettes.
On his face was a hint of sadness
filled with past regret.

Around his neck, a corded string held
A medal called a purple heart.
Anger rose in me our country discards
soldiers like old used parts.

When I asked the man if he needed work
his eyes began to tear.
He thanked me, but said it was too late
this was all he had known for years.

They say old soldiers just fade away,
but that is a bold faced lie.
The tatoo on his arm bears witness
and it only read Semper Fi.

By Billyrob

© 2012 Billyrob (All rights reserved)

 

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