Poems

Thank The Living Souls

And lost souls, too
We mustn’t forget them
Sun marches across the sky
Leaves behind another day

Poppies waving gently
In red dotted field
Poppy red, dead red
Black soil, sweet soil

The wagon rolls on
Boots reversed in stirrups
Taps and gun salute
Widow hugs the flag

Somewhere, sometime,
Someone remembers them
The silver drop cleanses
Refreshes them to mind

Memory returns an image
Not warm, not cold
A picture, flat, distant
Developed in longing

We hear hope in baby’s laugh
Eternal life of love
We hear hope in warrior’s voice
Olive branch of peace

Stilled, buried, restless
War dead cry from grave
Did my brothers make it home?
Did they perish here in vain?

Brothers don’t forget
The living or the dead
Echoes through the day
Images through the night

And lost souls, too
We mustn’t forget them, though
The dead don’t want your thanks
They want to come home too

12 thoughts on “Thank The Living Souls”

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