From the front

They’ll write of this in years to come
diaries and letters from loved ones
at the front
at the very beginning of war
this ideology lost
amidst tired grey wet endless noise
last moments spent among the already dead
the short lived mourn free
cutting among the fields
but for a few yards grace.

This time to sleep
to dream of fields not churned
disastrous incisions made from far away
have the deepest cut and cause
the deepest pain.

Letters hand delivered
the fear of the unknown, missing or dead
fear not death
for it comes to us all
but the fear of not living is hard to behold.

Copyright D. Archer October 2011

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