The convenience of death is too great
not to give in.
And I am found wandering
in old haunted battlefields,
searching for a place for the cannons.
Lay down in the outline of a dead Union soldier's body;
bullet holes riddle his blue uniform.
And the train has not come with the doctors and bandages;
they were all sent to Normandy.
Snow covers the flags and they are buried
in memories of more decent times
Even when I saw the explosions I was still sure
that everyone could make it out alive.
My grandpa's in bed; he's lost his sight,
tells me of losing his leg in a fight
with a German soldier over a piece of bread.
He leaned in and whispered,
"They say love is the only language everyone can understand.
That's not true. It's war."
I could barely speak when the door closed,
looked up and saw we'd joined another battle,
same enemy with a different name.
So I lay down my arms at Arlington National,
and rest in a child's grave.