In Foreign Soil beds


In Foreign Soil Beds.


They lie in

neat rows,
under sterile


to causes
that no

longer matter.

Only names
and ranks

while their

rank remains
moulder into

crumbling bones.


first class

surround them,
An occupation

of Ground troops
in the most

literal sense.


tiny flags

flutter above

far more then

their hearts

ever did.


bits of lead

and shrapnel

lie beneath

tumbled bones

in a sorrowful abstract

rendered into reality.


Companies of

only the dead

lie in formations

molded by time
Stationed beneath

hallowed ground,

drained of their life
as poppies above

bloom blood red.



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