At Your Own Funeral

They came over the palisade by the hundreds.  Our only weapons, sharpened sticks and rocks. Afterwards, nothing was left to bury.

They found us hiding in a cave.  Our mutilated bodies were tossed into the canyon below.

In the deep woods the legionary put us to the sword.  Our bodies left to feed the wild dogs.

They sank the ship and left.  We floated for days without water, before the sharks came.

The jungle erupted with automatic weapons fire.  We tried to run. They left us to rot where we died.

Death is always near.  Not so a decent funeral.