The lights.

I remember,
silence in the night
but no more,
now it rings of a glorious fight.
Light from the wars
glimmer across the floor
and illuminate the sky.
Some wonder why,
and the young ones still cry,
as their fathers never return home,
and their sisters and brothers
recieve the call
and hope remains small
for the sisters
the brothers, the fathers, the mothers,
the children, the husbands, the wives.
Marching. Praying.
Fighting. Weeping.
With all these precious lives,
how could it be that I survived?