Drums Roll

Drums roll,

The slow mournful rhythm of taps

Echoes off the walls of remote barracks,

Planted like weeds,

In places with unpronounceable names.

Another soldier fallen,

Someone’s mother, father, wife, husband

Cries for them alone.

Nothing but a ticker at the bottom of our screens,

A caption on the back page of our daily,

All that reminds us of their sacrifice.

This barracks stands emptier for the loss,

It’s life, slowly being extinguished

With the silencing of each voice.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 Jem Farmer the Boi Poet – Words at the Weekend 24-25 August 2013 prompt

22 thoughts on “Drums Roll

  1. True indeed, and very sad to think that soldiers of all the US forces remain nothing more than cannon fodder, a mere blip, a loss of life whilst folk spoon their sugar-laden cereal and flip the page.

    Great observation, but far too many people shake their head at such a loss and move on, without really thinking about the US military juggernaut, a hideous machine that threatens all mankind.

    “Hell, what’s one soldier’s life, when we are fighting the enemy.” What enemy? All make-believe, old white generals playing war in sandboxes; unfeeling monsters who don’t care in the least when some poor grunt bites the dust.

    Thank you for your haunting poem.

    Take care,
    Paul

    • Paul, thank you very much for your thoughtful comment. You are absolutely correct, people pay little attention to the fallen unless they knew them personally, until then they are nothing but a blip. Your observation about “old white generals play war in sandboxes” is spot on as well, to them, the fallen grunt is nothing but a number in their grand play, a play with real people and real lives. I certainly wish it were different, but sadly it isn’t and probably never will be, at least not while we exist as a nation. Thank you again my friend.

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