They stand in rows of silent glory,
awaiting accord's humble return.
Absent are words from the soldier's story.
As for their homes,they often yearn.
Along the lines of thunder and death,
a mission takes them to the hills.
From the moment they draw their last breaths,
sustenance of life receives its will.
Within the ground with their eyes on sites,
their nights are held restless from fear.
They choke on memories blossomed with pride,
holding pictures blemished with repine's tears.
Distortions of light which make for the day
marches them to a desolate place.
Amidst the madness they sha'n't lose their way
while eyes rove for hint of a malign face.
Lost in righteousness they sit and mourn
as the days schlep on for a cause.
Their vestures of wounds are ripped and torn
while the hot wind pierces their flaws.