In the stillness of dusk, a small box lies,
Beneath weeping willows, and softly painted skies.
Decorated by flowers with colours bright as the sun,
But the silence inside, speaks of a life undone.
It's not the wood that's polished, or the satin inside,
But the dreams left unspoken, and the laughter that died.
A mother's heart that cradles the weight of her grief,
The war is done, this shouldn't have happened, she's in disbelief.
We're promised fields which don't explode beneath the feet,
Of running children in a nightmarish heat.
Except they do. They do. They shouldn't, yet,
Landmines are still a hidden threat.
For one false step is a future lost, buried in the ground,
Innocence is shattered, yet the world makes no sound.
A recurring issue, the war has left behind,
To its impact after intention, the government seems blind.
A father stands silent, fists clenched tight,
His child had not gone gentle into that good night.
Too early, too soon, he should not have witnessed this day,
And yet, here he stands in the grasps of pain.
The smallest coffins are the heaviest to hold,
As the wasted life inside, did not get to grow old.
But in every flower that dances in bloom,
Lies a spirit that lingers, dispelling the gloom.
Let us not forget, in our sorrowful cries,
That love knows no limits, nor ever truly dies.
Though, life may take what we hold dear away,
In the hearts of the living, their light will always stay.
YOU ARE READING
To Live is to Die
PoetryI find war a fascinating topic-so broad yet so focused, filled with so many emotions and endless stories to explore. Sadness has its own kind of beauty, and that's what I wanted to capture here. To Live is to Die is my way of remembering the lives s...
