Wasted Plains

by | Apr 11, 2010 | Poetry | 0 comments

The soft muted sounds of bugles call,
Once more they stand at heaven’s open door
Soft voices blend as one in hallowed hall
Feet shuffle without sound on cloud white floor.

Peace surrounds the thousands of these dear souls
That line up to answer their Master’s voice
For they have died, for some men’s evil goals
Brought down in bloody act, not of their choice.

They were the weavers of such magic dreams
That for world’s peace and love, were constant taught
To keep all the world free of plots and schemes
And show us all the waste of battles fought.

Death laid them down: In ruins they rest below
Hate and revenge now constant to the fore
As nations join to strike a massive blow
Tumble-weeds on wasted plains: World at war!


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