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On scribbled parchment, sanguine letters writ in blood
Of hidden tales, broken pages smeared with mud
An unknown soldier, his blood he lie
With glint of sword, his death is nigh
A scar on the body, an ache in the heart
Blades in the dark, cut his chest apart
In his sorrow, with his dying breath
He called to his dearest Elizabeth
For never again would he see her face
‘Twould be here he died, this abysmal place
The war had begun, some fifty years hence
This soldier unknown fought for a sixpence
His gentle soul ripped by the horrible conflict
That artists of the gilded age could never quite depict
On the field of valor, were armies a’massing
‘Twas nought but bodies as sign of their passing
The head of the line led a cavalry charge
As arrows shot past, betwixt shield and targe
With iron-forged pikes upwardly thrust
To satisfy the wicked Gods’ bloodlust
Cries in anguish rang out cold as steel
Sheering flesh from bone, with fanatic zeal
With each death, came a tear fell from Heaven
The forgotten soldier, unidentified number eleven
Which side won the battle could not be told
Such death and carnage, history alone could be so cold
Through passage of time and the set of the sun
Came the dawn of a new age, the era of the gun
A weapon of such power that no armor can shield
That strikes such fear that the courageous yield
Could the forgotten soldier have known this to pass
How could he foresee land mines and poison gas
This is what we make of the cause he died for
To repeat the same mistakes, to continue his war
With a whimper or a scream, how does Humanity end
An unjust war on the horizon, on you it will depend...

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