The thunderous rain slaps off umbrellas.

The rain wet the pristinely cut grass.

Most places shut down in the rain,

but Arlington is awake.

The hum of lawnmowers echo

throughout the streets.

Trucks fly by carrying dirt to bury

another hero.

Walking

down the long road, we are passed

by funeral processions.

Black wagons carry heroes.

Young,

old,

but heroes all the same.

Widows walk away from their husbands.

Mothers say goodbye to their sons.

Sons meet their fathers for the first time.

Walking through the endless sea of white

headstones, I feel insignificant

compared to the acres of fallen heroes.

Reading the headstones makes it worse:

rows of 18 year olds who gave their all

for our freedom.

Here the quote has never felt so true:

“Freedom is not free.”