War broke out, and all were called to fight.
Young and naïve he stood,
Fear tightening around his tender throat—
Yet patriotism spoke louder.
Thus marched the unknown soldier.
“Why must peace be born of war?”
He wondered,
His plea falling on deadened ears.
“March!” — that was the order.
And so he fought without understanding,
The unknown soldier.
He gave his blood, his sweat, his all,
Yet no one ever knew his name.
Fate turned its face away—
The enemy claimed him,
And they called him
The unknown soldier.
The old declare the war,
The young go forth and die.
And when peace finally dawns,
Those who bore its cost
Are remembered only as
The unknown soldiers.
Unknown soldier
You are cherished and loved
Unknown believer
You are never forgotten
Unknown man and woman
You are deeply loved
On earth some of us are not known
But in the Kingdom of God we are all known
There are times many of us are alone in our faith
But Jesus is always with us
Unknown soldier
You are cherished and loved
Unknown believer
You are never forgotten
Unknown man and woman
You are deeply loved
It is clear that the eyes of the Lord are on us at all times
We break the cycle of fear because he cares
And prepares the fabric of our growth as
We interact with the world because
The Spirit of God is in all places
By the Grace of God, we move forward
By His Name He rewards us faithful soldier of Jesus Christ
by Maxwell "Max" Sebastian Burchett
One Memorial Day made me consider
The many tombs to unknown soldiers,
In memoriam to the lost
From wars then and now,
Unnamed ghosts.
Is memory of all without any names,
The memory of none?
Surely the names were known to some,
All missed and mourned by a loved one.
All had mothers with pain and grief unknown.
Those who fought for some cause,
Maybe not theirs,
Still paid the price with their lives,
In near and distant wars,
Extinguished in fire.
I know enough of hate,
Of powers’ desire,
To know wars will consume
Without any end
More names for the unknown tomb.
Once upon a time it was called the Great War
Alright it wasn’t a great war said the dead
Not according to the unknown soldiers
Blown away somewhere out there
That’s war they say
According to the politicians and historians
A memory getting dimmer yet no less sadder
Each passing day from one war to another
Some wars are of a spiritual nature no less a war
I don’t know why the orders were given
that’s for the history books and politicians
Slogans are a distraction like a kiss
From Judas Iscariot
Politicians with Stalin’s grin do it best I fear
With great rhymes hate ends with fate
Not a great war nothing is great about war I think
The sun shone gloriously but no one noticed
They had the last supper of bread and wine
On both sides every side posters and
paintings of Jesus Christ suffering on a cross
When we all know He rose from the dead
Frank Black Blacharczyk
Do they still dig up bodies from
The killing Fields of Flanders,
Bones of those long ago
Enticed and betrayed,
Lost generation, sold and
Slaughtered for no real cause.
Do they inter those bodies
Amongst the precise rows
Of immaculate graves,
Each topped wth it’s
Serene white cross marked
With Number Rank Name,
Or the Unknown Soldiers tombs
For those as yet unidentifed,
Those treated as cannon fodder,
The Butchers’ Bill in life,
To be shamelessly and cynically
Too late honoured in death.
Did they learn any lessons,
Were promises made kept
Or are those Fields of Crosses
Just a sad and mute reminder
Of how easily it could and
Does happen again and again.
Once a year they parade their
National outpourings of grief
While, from the latest leaders
Crocodile tears shed as they take
Their annual break from Calculating
The continued profits of death
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier - Canada
We all know you now
You have fallen at our feet
You have guarded them all with life and limb
Noble and brave
Only to fall at a cowards last call
You have stirred the souls of the unknown heroes
Their appall shall seek the just dues of our defamers and saboteurs
Young lads who now welcome you in the hereafter
Shall haunt our enemies from near or afar
The drum rolls sound, as the rifles salute
The Unknown Soldier
You are unknown no more
Notes: In memory of Nathan Cirillo and Patrice Vincent both killed in cold blood on the week of Oct 26, 2014 by cowards in the name of Islam. Nathin Cirillo was standing guard at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
Also in memory to the 1000’s of unknown soldiers, young men, who fought so that we may be free.
Passchendaele
Morning mist hung over the front line like a dirge,
as far as one could see the landscape was gray as
a German infanterist´s uniform and the few trees
left standing had been hit by shrapnel a thousand
times. Lead heavy stillness no bird flew across this
corner of carnage, but the soldiers had gone and
the dead had been carried away. Farmers moved in-
sons of the land- ploughed fields of sudden death,
and planted seeds. And the soil, rich by the blood
of unknown soldiers, exploded in many hues of green.
Few traces of war left, except for trenches crossing
here and there, but they were a good place for rain
run off when earth got soaked and a place for hares
to hid from the farmer´s shotgun.
He Lay Where He Had Fallen.
Enemy Fire Had Brought Him Down.
He Knew His Life Was Over,
As He Lost All Sight and Sound.
He Knew a Peaceful Sleep,
Amidst the Raging Guns of War,
But for Him the Fight Was Over.
He'd Gave His All..And More.
Oh, He Was Not Alone.
Others Have Fallen Too.
And Time Will Not Erase the Fact...
They Fell for Me and You.
We Owe These Men and Women,
For They Never Got Any Older.
We Didn't Even Know Them.
To Most of Us They Were..Unknown Soldiers.
So Rest in Honored Glory,
Each and Every One of You.
You Gave All You Had to Give...
For Freedom and the Red, White and Blue.
Connie Moore
A nebula rises unfazed after fission:
after a fractured debate, greed crouching on
the wrinkled noses of rugged bouncers.
In remote history someone was burning itself out.
A black eye surges forward, sings an ode to
championship. Ankles swell up. Veins become
jelly. The thyme is absent. Stink bellows on
your faces. The green pond becomes red; tragedy of wounds.
Speaker in bloody silence quotes the black sun
out of despair. Everything was in disarray.
In mating of souls flesh flew in rage;
a pink river swamped the inmates of tomorrow.
Enough! Time marches on the dead leaves of sorrow.
My candle burns at both ends. Alien moons
keep a watch. Bloodlines are obliterating. We
seek the graves of unknown soldiers!
SATISH VERMA
Just beneath a grassy meadow
That one time was a battlefield
Lies the bones of two unknown men
Still clothed in their tattered fatigues
in a shallow unnatural grave.
Unnatural because if buried
With the customary honors
There would have been two separate
grave sites with much deeper holes.
One of the uniforms was gray
In color, the other one blue.
It’s fair to assume that both men
Prayed to god for his own safety
But god does not take sides in war.
A nebula rises unfazed after fission:
after a fractured debate, greed crouching on
the wrinkled noses of rugged bouncers.
In remote history someone was burning itself out.
A black eye surges forward, sings an ode to
championship. Ankles swell up. Veins become
jelly. The thyme is absent. Stink bellows on
your faces. The green pond becomes red; tragedy of wounds.
Speaker in bloody silence quotes the black sun
out of despair. Everything was in disarray.
In mating of souls flesh flew in rage;
a pink river swamped the inmates of tomorrow.
Enough! Time marches on the dead leaves of sorrow.
My candle burns at both ends. Alien moons
keep a watch. Bloodlines are obliterating. We
seek the graves of unknown soldiers!
SATISH VERMA
In Arlington's tomb we tenderly keep,
Unknown soldiers in eternal sleep...
They fought and died for this great land,
Now God is holding them in his hand..
All Americans with precious faces,
Strong boys and men of different races..
They died without their family name,
Unknown, no-one to make their claim....
Did their mothers proudly hold them tight?
And fathers teach them wrong from right?
We often come to place a wreath,
In honor of the men who lie beneath....
We come to mourn and beat the drum,
We call their names... we call Freedom....
.
For the Name contest..
Another day in paradise; where all the ladies sing;
With their honey tasting ruby lips; and their garments that do cling.
And Jimmy sings of unknown soldiers; to the timed and the weak;
And Edgar speaks his darkest lines; on a mountain of Twin Peaks.
A tiny little field mouse; gathers scattered crumbs;
Then takes it to its nesting place; where mothers never done.
And the blue jay takes his shinny things; the ones he likes the best;
And it turns to watch the night come round; as the sun sets in the west.
As we live here in our cavern’s where fires the only light;
It casts its shadow on the wall; and we deem that to be right.
No one ever climbs the ladder; that could take them to the sun;
Where the clarity of light it brings; could be a freedom when we’re done.
And in the master chambers; on a bed with satin sheets;
The lady with her chains and whips; will help you feel complete.
Living in the darkness; where the only light is fire;
Burns away our better parts; that will turn into a mire.
And it’s another day in paradise; and the summer does its thing;
And such a lovely day it is; when you hear the song birds sing
Tales of heroes beyond, the normal despair of war’s plight,
Hearing of these stories, make us all quiver, in the night.
Each of them that go to fight, any battle, with all their might,
Universally, they are unknown soldiers, until names are released.
None knows the others, until their soul’s battle, against the beast.
Kings and political heads, never battle, for what they believe.
Never placed in harms way, they send soldiers; Mothers grieve
Only the loyal subjects take on the heat, from what they weave.
We honor, the Unknown Soldier, without any name, to perceive.
Nearer to God, these soldiers are known, here only deceased.
Secure, they have left us all, until the next battle to be fought.
Onward, we keep sending those to die, for what, a thought.
Listen, to all the stories, we hear of bravery, by them all.
Dear sweet Jesus, take them to your father, standing so tall.
I never fought any battle; I fight my battles with expressions.
Each of us must remember, soldiers, in their professions.
Remembering, who they could have been, not just impressions.
It`s just a little flower
painted red and green
it reminds us of our Veterans
both the living and the dead
In the year of thirty nine
young men went off to war
some of them came back
others will return no more
These young mengave their lives
so freedom they coud save
now they`re buried over there
in the unknown soldiers grave
it is now november and
thoughts they turn to snow
but lets remember Flanders Fields
wher the poppies grow
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