deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Essence Of Sacrifice

"In the name of the father,
and one scornful son,
this day has been and will
be forever ours, amen!"
It was not in vain that
lives were surrendered,
or never forgotten how
bodies are dismembered.
It was their duty to march
into the clutches of death,
but sheer bravery is why
the walls will be remembered.

It was not a valley of
death I saw, only mountains
of soldiers and a flowing
river of curdled blood.
Fear loomed; men cried and
shrieked, bullets whistled...
silence was only what hearts
of the dead could yield.
The skies fell, the seas boiled
and the earth spawned hell.
Violence endowed with steel;
chaos begot the battlefield.
� � �

War has no meaning, no
reason, it only has function.
The blackest of all plagues...
pure death and destruction.
Upon that day of mercy, was
it St. Michael who wiped the
blood off his sword, perched
victoriously on Satan�s head?
Deaf angels, powerless to all
the broken hearts back home.
Undertakers count blessings...
counting coffins for the dead.

Boys left to be soldiers, with
orders to defend our freedom?
Soldiers returned as heroes,
men haunted by dark wisdom.
They lost themselves in the eyes
of enemies, when they stole
a last breath, held friends in
their arms as they bled to death.
Some came back alone, no
family or home, nor word from
another. Many searched�
waited on word from a brother.

Trenches are swallowed by
earth, steel destroyed by rust;
debris of a battlefield are
forgotten by growth and dust.
Many ages, bound by utter
silence gather upon the dawn.
Humbled by solidarity, for fallen
heroes they come to mourn.
A march of frail warriors; seldom
honored with such respect.
A past that we are ashamed of...
a greater shame if we forget.