The Hero Who Rode Black Jack Home

The Hero Who Rode Black Jack Home

Written by Jonathan Henderson

January 19, 2014 @ 3:58 PM EST

That pristine shot killed your finite time, 

Measured by our flaws, you called home.

The scarlet chest bid "no," and yet the heart

Allowed the lion roar as you faded to Taps.

Your spirit's embodiment, the eagle, soars,

So many wails and their tears cascade low,

But their love for you will assuredly grow.

They are waving goodbye upon the capsule's

Descent, for you earned your wings, and 

Upon ascending Heaven's steppes, you are

Riding shotgun upon old Black Jack Home.

Crossfire hail will never give more to bear

The brunt of your moments' gross despair,

For the life at His Table drinking His Wine

Will only beget upon you a brand new life.

The lady and that little tyke shall forevermore

Never let you slip away at twilight's gleam,

For everyday, they will always kneel before

For you, never to die, their prayers forever

Calling you home to them with Glory's song.

Black Jack will carry your soul Home at dawn,

The chariot awaits, the salutes are forever begat

The fallen never cease living, nor they ever die,

 Nor will you, the knight riding Black Jack atop

 The Steppes into the Wild Blue Yonder's skies, 

And twenty-one rounds will always salute you
 Never amid the dusk nor a twilight's last gleam,

 For at the descent of The Sun, your soul shall

Ride Black Jack thither Home to God, for if 

Ever He called a good man to serve, Liberty

 Sent Him the tall, quiet hero to a new morning

In His Army to preach to those wanton souls.