Here it comes,
The great war it's called.
Stuck you're since eons,
But good news comes with the herald.
The war will be over soon,
You can finally return home.
Don't celebrate your loss,
You lost many friends.
Those friends that died,
You sang melodies with them.
Melodies to the Goddess of death,
Melodies to the wife at home.
Now be strong,
And move along.
For they are dead,
And the dead don't return.
This war showed you a lot,
A lot that matters to you.
Friends are like leaves,
They are lost in the wind.
My HP Poem #1945
©Atul Kaushal