One Patch of Earth
Yellow parchment papers
tattered round their edge.
Filled with different names in ink
bearing witness to many deaths.
The battlefield long now cleared
of corpse, blood and gore.
Belay the epic truth they tell,
knee deep in history and wars.
Dead stacked like cords of wood,
burnt on unsanctified fires.
Log by log of rigored souls
sent the flames up higher.
years later make shift morgues sat 'bout
to hold the fallen heroes.
Kept in dungeons and deeper colds,
till springtime thaw for burials.
Those that live on to build
and keep recording life.
Never thought once and all
war would end their daily strife.
So it goes, axe to sword,
Cannon to machine gun.
Scud missles to nuclear.
Who will be left to say they won?
Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2010
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