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
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