Tuesday, September 23, 2014

1865 Morning

Tears of heaven
Kiss the red pools
Of lifeless and cold.
 Not a voice 
To be heard 
Just a sound of pit pat
Drumming against the earth.
Bowing our heads
We gather the dolls
And bury them 
In our backyard.
With white crosses
Marking the end
Of the tears 
From all those years 
Of madness
Row on row 
It goes
Forever to show 
Courage and bravery
Of our men in the calvary.


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