Crimson cascades, unbridled, desolation intrudes, spark remains like embers a glow, the dead of the night likely to take him, the world does not see, does not know.
Fields of foreign soil, whispers masked, overshadowed, bleak is the wintry air that fills his lungs, laid harrowed.
Bright are the thoughts of days long past, moments of clarity in darkness cast.
Emphatic ruin bestowed him remains,
Honours thyself on murderous plains.
Sacrifice takes him to new tranquil abode,
Remember him we must, our respect is owed.
Copyright © simon bromley | Year Posted 2018