Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

Acidic remains of long dead sailors
Drift freely on the placid green seas,
Waiting for the pyre to be built
That will send embers to oblivion.

Deep within the copse a body lies,
Late in its stages of rapid decomposition,
The maggots crawl into hues of flies,
And the body writhes with geriatric rot.

Stigmas attached to disembodied soldiers,
Piled into unanimous, ambiguous pits.
The dirts recede like an aging hairline,
Ready to be exhumed when the time is ripe.

A watery crypt encases the coffin
Of the unfortunate unspecified airman.
His mission held by bureaucratic secrecy,
Natural revenge, so fitting, the bottom of a trench.

All have one in common thought,
Not wives, children or lovers lost,
Not ones who hate and shall not lament.
The augury for them all, deep, dark and eternal sleep.
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Category: Poetry
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