Untitled

When it is done;
I will be surrounded
by memorials
and dead souls.
When the bugle
has ultimately
fallen into silence,
all the names
in the vast graveyard
will be familiar;
and one
will be missing,
for I cannot
bury myself
when all my comrades
will have departed
to the yonder world
of light and the unknown.
May the stone memorials
where underneath
these comradely souls
lie interned,
stand firm and upright
to tell the silenced story
of the excruciating
memories of our journey.
For we live to die
but in our lives
we are bestowed
with the choice
of silence
in the face of oppression
or the struggle
to fight for our freedom.
Today you are all
scattered across the
width and breadth
of our land;
with stones
on your heads
silent in this vast expanse.
Someone must tell
your story.
But who will tell mine
as I draw the curtain
in darkness,
In this eerie silence
of your physical absence:
In this deafening noise
of your deadening silence?
May your souls
All of you comrades
Find and rest in eternal peace!