Musings

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
People do what they can and must
The sky is filled with acid rain
Beneath? Dying men, shouting in pain.
The battle's over, midnight has gone
The screams still echo, going on and on
The metal and canvas, the pitchfork hills
The earth, soaked with blood, has had its fill.
The bones are broken, the air is cold
So many young men who will never grow old.
Yet somewhere to the south, the sea rolls in
And the birds sing in the trees and the fish still swim
Deer graze quietly in a copse of trees
And the flowers open up, awaiting the bees.
Yes, there is always darkness and the thick of the fight
But there are always stars in the sky at night.