[untitled]

Why is this guilt for those they've sadly left behind
so insistent, unto the heart a slice unkind -
each cruel loss a dagger to the soul, chills like ice.
Grief lingers oft and weighs in waves upon the mind.

A single voice calls to us from the bitter line;
whose woeful, bloodstained dirges bid us 'count this cost'.
This is the gift of those they've sadly left behind.

Not for naught when these scything tears do us remind;
for some in power war is endless, is a vice -
it lingers oft and weighs in waves upon the mind.

For us in silence proud eyes weep, to them unkind -
it is our cost, our heroes' tears for souls now lost.
Such is our grief for those they've sadly left behind.

For our communal good our heroes' tears are kind;
whose sad pall remains long past ruins swept away -
though they linger oft and weigh in waves upon the mind.

If we have counted, found unjust, then to our hearts will bind
throughout the long march of endless, grief filled days:
this is our guilt for those they've sadly left behind;
it lingers oft and weighs in waves upon the mind.

© wolfman
October 3, 2007