Mannequins move when people do not.
The untrodden land a lingering invitation
To which a response is owed yet seldom delivered.  
Edifices of grandeur loom with open arms.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Hills green with envy and
A thousand eyes which blankly stare
At what dares traverse a land bereft.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Voices cry out in an unfamiliar tongue
With an intertwinement of shrieks
And woeful sobs that reverberate far beyond.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Vacant cradles still rock
Back and forth as they once did
Long ago when whines were heard.

Mannequins move when people do not.
A longing to return to what once was
Before the shrapnel had rained
And they marched, unashamed.

Mannequins move when people do not.
Poppies of red made all the redder,
And slanted signatures upon scarlet letters.
Yet, a lone gaze accompanied a fragile thought,
With sorrowfully spoken syllables
And pursed lips, almost hypocritical
In their aimless deed to redefine sympathy.

Mannequins move when people do not.
For what else does when people do not.
Mannequins move in tactless ways,
Not knowing of transgressions of past days.
Mannequins move when people are nought.
Land demands a usual offering,
One of which silence is futile.