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Robert McQuate Apr 2017
I sit here in the darkened dining room,
A small light shining in from the kitchen,
Just enough to silhouette the curtain of cigarette smoke that hung about the room,
I've been sitting here,
Smoking all the while,
Listen to Robert Plant croon,
About a woman he loves with all his heart,
But against his wishes,
He has to bid her adieu.

I sit here, smoking, in this warm and comfortable room,
All else is quiet,
Everyone else asleep,
Plant singing my anthem so sad and true.

But eventually the song ends,
And the record must be flipped,
So too the anthem changes,
One more upbeat and slick,
A song of change and travel,
And ever pressing on.
Robert McQuate Apr 2017
It is on this day,
The final day,
The last battle in the war that ended all my wars,
The final shot,
The final blast,
Full of rage, sorrow, and lore.
It is in the moments,
These final moments,
In which I'd reflect upon it all,
The joy, the sorrow, the laughter, and the tears,
In remembrance of those that had fall.
And when the cannons fell mute, & the rifles went still,
In realization it had dawn,
That when the darkness came,
We fought deaths game,
And those that claimed victory would have to go on.

— The End —