The Standard Bearer

In honor of this Veterans Day, of 11-11-11, and of my 40th post on this blog, I decided I would put a poem here that is very near and dear to my heart.
This poem was one that I started more than four years ago.  Since then I've rewritten it several times, expanding and refining it, though the story and message have remained the same.  It is now my longest poem by far, with fifty stanzas of four lines each and just over one-thousand words, and holds a place in my top three favorite of any I've written.  Along the way I've had help from several friends with turning it into the piece it is now.  This post is in part dedicated to them, though I will preserve their anonymity.
It was with this poem that I won an international award last year (the same contest I finalized in this year,) and I got to perform it in front of a crowd of several hundred at the awards ceremony.  It was a very wonderful and memorable experience, one for which I am very grateful.
The story of how this allegorical poem came about is thus: I was listening to a Christian-themed song; one of the lines talked about lifting the standard when there was no one else around.  At that point I had an experience which is extremely rare for me; an image appeared in my mind of a young boy facing an opposing army, holding a tattered flag (also known as a standard.)  In an hour or so the first version was completed.
I apologize for the long introduction, but this is one poem I felt needed some preface.  I would appreciate your comments; let me know what you think and feel.  So, without further ado, here is "The Standard Bearer."

A young, unseasoned warrior
upon the field did stand;
waiting for his captain
to give his first command.

The battle hadn’t started
when the captain gave his charge.
"You're to hold this flag up steady
despite gunfire, small or large."

Then he gave o’er the battle standard
(with its colors brave and true,)
saying "Stand upon this hill, my lad,
till death or I release you."

The boy then grasped the banner
with his heart and face alight.
Though the battle hadn’t come yet,
he was sure they'd win the fight.

For theirs was a battle
for land and liberty,
guarding from invaders
from another country.

He was glad to do his part
and to cheer the soldiers on;
for as long as he stood on that hill
the enemy had not won.

With daybreak came the trumpets,
and the troops were in array.
The sun had barely risen
when all had joined the fray.

The battle still was going strong
when the sun had reached its height;
now its cruel, uncaring rays
were burning with their might.

How hot it was upon the field!
And the boy, his lips were parched.
But yet he stood steadfastly,
as the soldiers ‘round him marched.

The afternoon was wearing on.
He soon forgot his thirst;
for explosions all around him
had now begun to burst.

The fight, ‘twas going badly,
the victory switching sides.
All ‘round the boy came fleeing back
the men, in rising tides.

"Stand firm for your country!"
(He called to urge them on.)
“Yet, e’en though I stand alone,
I'll still be her true son!"

The bullets were screaming closer,
they tugged his hat and coat.
The cannons roared the louder,
‘round his feet they dug a moat.

The captain saw the danger,
and he rushed to our dear boy’s aid;
but, before he could quite reach him,
to the ground the man was laid.

The boy never saw his leader
fall onto the ground;
his eyes were on the enemy,
his ears upon their sound.

A sound, oh how frightening,
‘twas the cries of demon-men
who did the work of terror,
and found glory therein.

They drew on ever closer,
like a roaring prairie fire;
stirring in the lonely boy
a coward’s base desire;

to run like the wind,
to flee from their sight;
and yet he stood fast
and held his standard tight.

The flag was violently waving,
though there was nary a breeze;
‘twas lead shot that sent it stirring,
their buzz - like angry bees.

But still our boy stood steady;
firm and unmoving was he!
Though standard-bearers ‘round him
had long since begun to flee.

There was only one other standing;
then, with a blast, he too was gone.
Our dear boy shook with terror;
he was now the only one.

It seemed every gun was aimed at him;
oh, how he yearned to run!
Slowly he lowered his standard,
despairing "It’s over. I’m done."

Then came the words of his captain,
"Don’t fall until you die."
Up swiftly came the banner
and he screamed the battle cry!

"For liberty, land and family!
For all that you hold dear!
For all that is worth fighting for,
show your weapons, not your fear!"

It flew with tongues of lightning,
from one voice to the next,
stirring iron into the hearts
that by fear were vexed.

One small cry, heard by many,
did change the tides of war.
Swiftly men came flooding back,
recalling what they fought for.

And with the strength of dragons
the enemy they did beat;
back quickly fled those scoundrels,
in terror and retreat.

"Victory," thought the boy,
"I didn’t fight in vain.
It was worth the danger,
it was worth the pain."

Just then, as they surrendered,
someone fired a parting round;
it lodged deep within the heart
of our boy upon the mound.

The joyous cry of victory
was cut short from his lips.
Then slowly, but surely,
the banner began to slip.

His fading life-clock, ticking,
began to fast unwind.
A thousand, sweetest mem'ries
and thoughts flash through his mind.

‘Twas time spent with the families
that he was fighting for,
both with the one he now had,
and the one no more in store.

The wife he’d never have,
children he’d never hold;
a tear sank down his cheek
as his hands grew cold.

Now all that he can see
is the terror that he fought,
not the several men
but the evil that they sought.

An evil just as faceless
as the violent, massing hoard,
an evil that says, "Virtue,
is something you can’t afford."

Denying men the freedom
to make themselves free;
a freedom gained by living
strict lives of purity.

He looked up at the banner
and saw, not a flag much torn,
but the many virtues
the world mocks with scorn.

For oft betimes ‘tis heavy,
and oh, so cumbersome,
to carry close your honor,
despite what e'er may come.

And loyalty and truth
are then called "out of date"
by those who, forever,
the narrow path do hate,

And chastity, strength-giver,
is scorned by the weak,
who live only for themselves,
thus losing what they seek.

Patriotism grows heavy
before the firing-line,
like the standard-pole
the boy's fingers did entwine.

It would be so easy
to let go and go numb.
Oh, to just give up
and to death succumb.

No! With his dying strength
he planted it in the ground!
Then, without a single moan,
he joined the dead all ‘round.

His life ended with the day;
but, as the sun went down,
his spirit left his body
and calmly looked around.

Then steadily rose his spirit
to stand above the plain.
His captain also had perished
and now they meet again.

"Well done, my young hero,
you bravely held your station.
Before you go to your reward
I have for you one question."

"Why didn’t you run with the rest?
You didn’t have to die."
"I have no regret," the boy said,
"I held my standard high."

"I was fighting in a cause
far greater than you or me.
I stood my ground, facing fear;
I’m glad I didn’t flee. "

They found the lad upon the mound,
the flag still in its place.
A calm little smile was still upon
our good young hero’s face.

They buried him on the hill;
by his stone the flag did fly.
By his name were etched these words,
"He held his standard high!"

David Jamison