Anonymous

The author of this poem is unknown; Chris Lyon has edited it. Chris Lyon is a young Marine who has already fought in Fallujah, Iraq, and will going back to Iraq next year.

The Marine stood and faced his God

Which must always come to pass . . .

He hoped his shoes shone brightly,

As all his spit-shined brass.

"Step forward, now, my Warrior . . .

How shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned that oft-scarred cheek?

To My Church have you been true?"

The Warrior squared his frame and said,

"No, Lord, I guess I ain't.

For those of us as carry guns,

Can't always be a saint."

"I've had to work most Sundays,

At times my talk was tough . . .

And sometimes I've been violent,

For the World is awful rough."

"But . . . I never took a penny,

As wasn't mine to keep . . .

I've worked a lot of overtime,

When the bills just got too steep."

"I never asked a man for help,

Though I often shook with fear . . .

And sometimes, God forgive me,

I've wept unmanly tears."

"I know I don't deserve a place,

Among the people here.

They never wanted me around,

Except to calm their fears."

A silence fell around the Throne,

Where saints and angels trod . . .

The Marine, in silent splendor,

Awaited judgment from his God.

"Step forward, now, My warrior,

You've borne your crosses well . . .

Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets . . .

You've done your time in Hell."