Tears From the Sun

The painted sky weeps under a sad sun A field of mud the place our souls shall dwell As scattered gray reminds, life's course has run Its sadness reflecting from the eye's well, Streaming down in salted trails to their end Waiting for last breath without testament Remembering days, years we'll not extend Confronting our death, still we are content The sun cried today for the carnage seen Along the ridge where bodies lay, so still Covered in bloody mud fields, once pristine Gift given to this field, without ill will To die for country, alone far from home Trumpet blows, then silence after death's moan 1/13/14