Their dying hearts had pumped out blood

Broken bodies lying among the stone

The gaping wounds that cried out there

Sometimes theirs sometimes our own.

Now that the guns have grown silent

And the arena has grown cold

Your efforts to make peace at last

Is politically considered so bold

You light candles in the night

In memories of those you didn’t know

And you lay wreathes before upturned guns

Like you’ve done so many times before

Then you give more moving speeches

Of the sacrifices of those who are no more.

But what about all those white mourners

And the darkness in their breasts

Crying before sepia photographs

While the country, in sleep, rests

Your own head now upon your pillow

And your beliefs that now lie secure

Behind guns still held by the young

Like those who went away before

Your candles don’t brighten their lives

As they mourn hugging the bare floor

Nor do the flowers in the wilting wreathes

Bring fragrance to nostrils smelling gore

Waiting faces wet with tears

For those who will come home no more.

Don’t you owe something to them

The living among the dead

To protect your home and heart

They have forfeited their bread

Light candles among those living dead

And brighten up their hopeless lives

Plant flowers of opportunity for them

So that their sacrifice survives

Don’t forget them when you go to sleep

Give them a place in your dreams

They gave you all with patriotism

And swallowed their frustrated screams.