The beat of the old drums echoes in my ears,
Their sound has been remodeled, refashioned,
Into gun fires and explosions,
A cynical melody,
A symphony of unnerving sound,
The play their tune upon the lives of others,
These warriors play a part of the piece too,
Walking the reddened fields,
I am struck by the sight,
Each marred face and blood soaked body,
As I continue walking on,
Their eyes still intense with their efforts & passion,
To protect their homeland but not in vain,
My searching eyes wonder at how they accomplish such a task,
Of violent brutality and heart shattering pain,
Yet they still manage to have some strength,
Down to even the very last second,
As I walk these hallowed grounds once again,
I am reminded of their selfless act,
That allows me to be standing now,
Where I am.
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 5:48 AM UTC
The beat of the old drums echoes in my ears,
Their sound has been remodeled, refashioned,
Into gun fires and explosions,
A cynical melody,
A symphony of unnerving sound,
The play their tune upon the lives of others,
These warriors play a part of the piece too,
Walking the reddened fields,
I am struck by the sight,
Each marred face and blood soaked body,
As I continue walking on,
Their eyes still intense with their efforts & passion,
To protect their homeland but not in vain,
My searching eyes wonder at how they accomplish such a task,
Of violent brutality and heart shattering pain,
Yet they still manage to have some strength,
Down to even the very last second,
As I walk these hallowed grounds once again,
I am reminded of their selfless act,
That allows me to be standing now,
Where I am.
copyright © Deana Lightner 2009
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