I sacrificed my young life-
just like my brothers-in-arms,
the sun is rising over my
dewy, pristine, white marble
headstone,
sparrows have begun
their songs of peace
in the stately presence
of dawn,
when my parents
bring me flowers,
I wish I could go home
with them,
my blood,
a herald of my bravery,
just like my brothers-in-arms.

Myriads of
sleeping babies,
nestled,
sighing,
dreaming on
cumulus clouds,
smiling as
the tall angels
with iridescent wings
kiss their cheeks.

The famished arrive in their cars,
a Mass, break the bread,
their jobs gone, pray,
brothers and sisters, pray

Ghostly ebony horses silently plodding in dust along the
slumbering mountains,
in dreams of my concealed thoughts,
the horses' dead eyes haunt
even the recesses, the yielding,
the insane reaches of my mind,
as descending melancholy
imprisons me with its blackness,
its poetic dirge, its deep knells.

A phantom pall covered coffin
pulled by these gaunt specter
horses,
this bier in shadows- who is
bourne in it ?
my mortal, it is fragments of
my heart,
which could no longer bear
the loss of the lives from-
world hunger and war.