The Fallen.

History, Music, Oldie but goldie, Poetry, Politics, War

 Their song became wordless.

The words shall never be sung,

Played to the rhythm of gunfire,

Maybe their tale shall be sung.

 

Tonight, the stars shine down upon them

As they lie lifeless, bleeding.

Their fervour has fled with their spirits,

Slain by evil and its seeding.

 

They lived not for the glory,

But their end was plain gory.

They perished with their mothers, wives, sisters,

For a Motherland. ‘Tis the very story.

 

“Once in a lifetime,

Once in a blue moon,

A chance to break free of the shackles.”

They prayed for it to be soon.

 

Stars shine down upon them,

As the enemy celebrates.

And desecrating each of the Fallen,

As their laughter reverberates.

 

“Each a vicious militant!

Each a savage brute!

Each an enemy of the Great Republic!

Each uncouth!”

 

Each escaping the clutches of the Satanate,

For hope and Freedom.

Where dignity and honour, well-preserved,

Away from this fiefdom.

 

“They were armed to their teeth!”

Or so the soldiers stated,

But many were feeble, young and old.

Or simply, ill-fated.

 

Their arms were just prayers,

Their munitions: words of God,

Their aim was just Freedom.

Or whatever was willed by God.

 

Escape was the only way out for them,

As their days were all slated.

Lurking in the tall pines,

Hidden, Death waited.

 

Their wish was Freedom,

From subjugation, oppression.

God willed it from all kinds

In His Just, Noble fashion.

 

The Fallen fell from our sights,

Flew away their martyred sprites.

Freedom comes in Kingdom Come.

The Fallen win in respite.

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