Crosses

I see those crosses row on row,
just standing there as numbers grow,
How many more will die in vain,
supposing no more bombs will rain.

They are all heroes - don't forget,
their youth was spent, their sun has set.
How many lives are worth youth's blood?
It pools on fields yet yields no good.

The prophets sing of worthwhile goals,
nirvana gained by worthy souls.
Explain all that, when mothers weep,
who know their sons no joy will reap.

I feel the sorrow constrict thought
it strangles hope as faith is wrought
by ghosts of children never seen,
whose parents lie in pastures green.

It's not the fault of those who lay
in tended lawns as garlands gay
wave in the breeze while mourners mourn,
as grief still pierces early dawn.*

I wonder if those young men knew,
the one who sends the sparkling dew,
In early morning comes the dawn
and strikes God's tears on mercy's morn.

Envoi (Remember me.)

Yet cries still mutter in the trees,
and fades not on the gentle breeze.
Those young men's gaze fall not on skies
of azure blue from sightless eyes.


R.Owen 11/11/2021