This poem, Muscles And Breasts, is a tribute to the men and women who are serving, and have or will serve in our military. In all actually, it is meant to be read by all. So often, these men and women serve without recognition. Much too often, their sacrifice can be their life. Even if it is not the loss of breath, the sacrifices can be deep and scarring. Those who are, or have, served, many times feel what we the people do not visually see as a wound, for years.
All rights reserved. The poems are the property of Andrea Faith Hilla and Ralph John Hilla. Usage, or reading of the poems, is for personal use only. No part of this World Wide Web site involving these following poems may be reproduced, or reused, or any part of them, used for any other purpose without written and notarized permission from the above mentioned owners of these properties.
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                 " Muscles And Breasts"
      ©2012, Andrea Faith Hilla / Ralph John Hilla, Jr.
     A poem to, for, the men and women in the armed forces.
     To all who have, or still are, wearing the uniforms of these United States.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
Upon our sleeves we wear the crest,
Of the squadrons platoons and battalions, that are putting us to the test.

Wars are never fought for fun, whether by bomb or gun,
And those soldiers who are in them, wish they would end as soon as they begun.
But rare are the battles that start and end, in the heartbeat of a day.
Instead those scenes are long and drawn out, and painted in a dark gray.
To every soldier who has stood, on our country's battled ground,
Their thoughts are that their souls there, will not be dirt bound.
If war and hell are just a state, in every soldier's mind,
Then those who have not lived it, are not of a soldier's kind.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
Too often we are an unwanted guest,
But in this troubled world, we are often called upon to clean up a mess.

There is no gold in hell, only heavens unwanted souls.
There is no gold on the battle fields, only blood and lost souls.
The ideologies of the gods, many who we do not know,
Should be watching over the battle fields, for friendly goals not souls.
There is no gold in their thinking, just our soul when we are cold.
There should be no gold in our thinking, for lives should never be sold.
And yet we serve no questions asked, our attitudes firm and bold,
We just salute and carry out the orders, as we are told.
The ideologies of man, should not be of material goods to be sold,
Instead those ideologies, should be for lives futures to unfold.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
Too often we serve never to be heard, for our humble requests,
Only told to fight and swear, and wear a bullet proof vest.

Hell is a place and space, in every soldier's mind,
Freedom and our constitution, are what victories bind.
Surrender is never a word, this country will ever use,
Our cause is worth defending, with our broad and open views.
Freedoms ring of liberty, and justice is shared by all.
That is why so many of us, answer to freedom's call.
For those who have gone before us, on battlefield's hallowed grounds,
Freedoms tears are a tribute, for all of the pleasure we have found.
Every soldier knows not to bow, to stand tall and not be afraid,
Even if it means to see the end, of a comrade's cold body laid.
And on those cold bodies we salute, to our country's flag,
Knowing they have acted out, their last hour on this stage.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
Even though the thought of dying, bares a burden of stress,
Until we hold victory in our hands, our goals will never rest.

For us bombs and bullets are made of steel, to others they are more like gold,
But for a soldier who uses them, that steel stings both hot and cold.
A soldier's path is never made, of silver or golden flakes,
Just sweat and blood and courage, and perhaps a life if that's what it takes.
To many the tears of freedom, are not the reason for war,
More like golden gifts and pleasures, and caviar treasures in a store.
When greed bends the vision, of freedom's hallowed cry,
Many souls on both sides, are left to wither and die.
Gold and silver cry no tears, they just give a pleasurable grin,
To the soldier whose feet are on the ground, they are just a mortal sin.
Yet they serve no questions asked, their vision is straight and true,
For their vision of freedoms ring of liberty, is their only point of view.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
We serve the gods of freedoms quest,
And hope our fallen souls will be blessed.

Many a scar is lowered in the ground, few eyes hear the story told,
Yet the signature of the battle fought, their cold bodies will forever hold.
As time passes on through the years, and each name is lost in the past,
Those scars will still be crying out, saying freedom will forever last.
With every scar earned on the field, ten thousand more will feel the pain,
For sons and daughters who have served, freedoms victory is theirs to claim.
And yet the vision of every scar, is not for an eye to behold,
Instead there are tears kept inside, for dreams at night that seem so cold.
Even though they don't cry out, we should listen for their voices to be heard,
For humble stories of battles fought, are often spoken in a soft word.
Many are the brothers and sisters, who hold no discharge papers in hand,
They hear parade rest sung out the last time, as they gave their life for their land.
Whether a soldier is young or old, and it is their funeral time,
Bow your head and show your respect, for the bell of freedom's chime.
Their names may be lost in time, but not their noble deeds,
For they served their country to the end, in the name of freedom's creed.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
Many of our brothers and sisters, in their uniforms will remained dressed,
Not for pride and glory, but because of war's hellish mess.

We fight for freedom we fight for country, we fight for our constitution and more,
Just as our founding fathers taught us, lives will be laid down as before.
We fight for love we fight for understanding, we fight for the world to be one,
Where peace and harmony and sharing, can be the voices to be sung.
No hate and prejudice and suffering, shall be the dominating force,
That rules this world we live in, as we stay true to the course.
No tears have to be shed for freedom, where love holds out its hand,
A soldier's uniform should give support, in everybody's land.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
We've taken the vow to serve, to all we do attest,
If we have to give our life, it will be that and nothing less.

If there is one creed we all seek, let all wars come to an end,
No matter what uniform we wear, that is the message that we send.
Why can't the wars end, before the death of my brother or sister who serves?
Why can't the wars end, before my highest sacrifice is made?
Why can't the wars end, before the bugler plays taps for me?
Why can't the wars end, before the tears in my eyes turn to hate?
Why can't the wars end, before I meet my hell here on this earth?
Why can't the wars end, before a pain so deep breaks down the faith in the soul?
Why can't the wars end, before the devil takes the toll on this road?
Why can't the wars end, before I hear the crackling of the flame?
Why can't the wars end, before all of the love I have has left my soul?
Why can't the wars end, before the Gods turn their faces in utter disgrace?
Why can't the wars end?

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
Upon our sleeves we wear the crest,
Of the squadrons platoons and battalions, that are putting us to the test.

The torment of a soldiers cries, will outlive the eternity of hells' flames,
But only the cold grave, will hear their words and feel the pain.
How does a heart cope, that is full of hate and rage?
Yet that same heart holds love and hope, all in the same day on wars' stage?
Is it any wonder the mind gets confused, when it tries to follow the heart?
Knowing the touch of family and friends, are many miles apart?
A soldier never recognizes the face of death, even though they wear it on their face,
Until a loved comrade has fallen, and they give their last embrace.
That fallen soldier on the ground, knows that their life is coming to an end,
And the last thing they see and feel, is the love and tears of a fellow soldier and friend.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
Too often we serve never to be heard, for our humble requests,
Only told to fight and swear, and wear a bullet proof vest.

Many soldiers scars are burned in deep, though not healed with needle or thread,
Too many times those battles are fought again, at night when they are lying in bed.
Just as a thunderstorm comes closer, and the ground shakes beneath their feet,
The memories of battles turn a clear crystal heart, to a red glow that burns so deep.
The devils' toll on wars road, will be paid by many for years,
While the only thing that soldier can hope for, is that those memories turn to blurs.
For those that serve, these roads of war stand for freedom.
For those that serve, these roads of war stand for hope.
For those that serve, these roads of war are paved with love.
There is no gold beneath their feet, only gravel, wet by blood and tears,
And hope deep within their soul, that these wars will not last for years.

Muscles and breasts,
We're part of this countries best.
We fight for freedom we fight for country, we fight for our constitution and more,
We serve our country we serve freedom, we hope that some day we will end all wars.
Hell is a place and space, in every soldier's mind,
But it will be love and our constitution, that this world will someday entwine.

Thank you, Love Andrea and Ryan, Tony, Ellen, Ralph (ehilla@aol.com)
Andrea Faith Hilla   hill0286@tc.umn.edu
    www.AntiquityMasterCrafter.com