White Crosses
here are no warriors here
only men,
there are no heroes here
just regrets,
here are no soldiers here
just lives extinguished
that still should burn bright,
there is no glory here
that dream died with us,
crosses are our legacy
they speak for us
in a common language,
a language that denies
the geography of hate
by these you will remember us
by these we will be known
after are names are scratched through
by spit tipped blunted pencils
following a silence
when the roll is called at muster,
there is no poetry here
look for it elsewhere
look for it cowering in the trenches
look for it huddled beneath the
firing platform
look for it sinking in the mud
look for it
after the anointed hour
that moved us forward and left us
hanging silent on the wire
listen for it
crying in the surgeons tent
marvel at it in the lines
hobbling in file
gasping and blind
do not look for it here
there is
no
poetry here
for we have no neeed
of poets
©Mark Russell
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