"Why God Created Marines"

     Why God created Marines to fly the American flag.  God knows what we would be before we were born and therefore He made some men to be Marines.  So every parent that has a Marine in their home shall be blessed and honored with the God Lords love.  What people in this world don't realize and understand is that the parent of this Marine sacrificed there son to war.  And the parents of this Marine pray every night and say, "Thank you God", for he is one of the proud, brave, and few.  And as we look at our American flag that our Marines fly at the time of sun rise till sun set not one of us should ever forget what our American flag stands for and always honor our Marines who lived and died for us.  When the Marines fly the American flag it should tell each and everyone of us a story.  So what does the American flag tell your heart or does it mean nothing to you.  Well I'll tell you from the bottom of my heart what the American flag means to me as well as our Marines.  Well when I see our American flag, that our Marines fly, I see our country America.  When I see the red I see the blood and the Marines that lived and died for me.  When I see the blue I see a Marine that is true to his God and country.  When I see the stars on a flag I see every state in the country.  When I see the stripes of red and white it reminds me of the proud, brave and few.  So when I see our Marines fly our American flag it tells me of how our Marines, lived and died just for me.  So for our country America and the Marines that gave us our freedom to live, love and honor.  So to the family of every Marine that flies our American flag my heart goes out to you all for sacrificing your son to war.  To the ones that devoted there lives in Desert Storm and all wars.  And fighting for what they thought was right at peace time as well as at war.

Poem wrote by Barbara L.Erdley Haught
September 1, 1991
Wrote for Brain Snyder & Rodney Lee
Both from Milton, PA

Poem from a Cadet

by Cadet Major Kelly Strong
Homestead Sr. High School
Homestead, Florida 1988


I watched the flag pass by one day
It fluttered in the breeze
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.

I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert,
He'd stand out in any crowd.

I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom is not free.

I heard the sound of "Taps" one night,
When everything was still.
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.

I wondered just how many times
That "Taps" had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.

I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.

I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea,
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom is not free.

The above was used without permission 

The below poems' author is unknown at this time and used without permission.

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight. My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
  my daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree,
I believe, Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy,
my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love
I would sleep in perfect contentment,
or so it would seem.
So I slumbered, 
perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble,
I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
  A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice.
I'm here every night"
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "There's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag, The red white and blue... an American flag.
"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat,
I can carry the weight of killing another
Or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To insure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us