Eleven Past Eleven

 

The leaves fall

better in September,

then they are gone

by the middle of November,

when we stand in the snow

and we remember;

the fallen ones

and the sounds

of distant guns.

 

I ask only

to stand in silent witness.

My moment of remembrance,

mercy and forgiveness,

but I hear the cannon fire

in the distance;

for war and time

all seem to fall in line.

 

With our world

long fed by blood and fire.

We know war,

but peace drives our desires.

Our eyes forever seek

for something higher,

but always settle

back down

upon the ground.

 

Our lineages sleep beneath the dirt

that they were fighting for.

We are asked to do no more

than stand up on that sacred earth

and remember

our defenders.

 

For what is the worth of freedom,

if we ignore the deeds done

in our future memory?

Stand aside,

let the procession pass,

let old men,

and let young men,

mourn their brethren.

While we acknowledge sacrifices

we cannot imagine,

in the cold of mid-November

at eleven past eleven.

 

HG – 2016