clarakatalin

Outdoors we gather, amongst the silent graves,
Bedecked with flags, each soldier’s resting place.

I sit in silence, waiting for Mass to begin;
Unearthly cicada sounds, the only din.

Just before, sev’n planes flew overhead,
Not to bomb, but to plume their smoke instead.

The bagpipes played “Amazing Grace” —
I weep, but not just grieving tears —

There’s joy that soldiers may be in a better place,
Taking advantage of God’s grace.

I have no words for those who were so brave,
Or perhaps unwittingly went to grave.

I cry for all the lost and all the dead,
For any harmed by war’s sick dread.

The sun, the warmth, is healing on my skin.
I pray, that through our pain, we all will heal again.