The air moves with deception
those blue skies and soft clouds
sing a sirens song only heard in the trenches;
a tune that tells us of a home
that will never again exist
buried somewhere beneath the bodies.
What semblance remained we dug away
to keep us always below the horizon.

Up there in the fresh air
terror travels on the breeze as easy as leaves
with metal wings and fire
to burn an anonymous generation.
All things are destined for the ground;
the real war is six feet below
youth running through tunnels
lamenting the tangible and intangible losses;
The death of innocence.
The death of the world they knew.
death itself.

Still, the sky is blue
the clouds are soft
they sing though it is silent
a hint at the end up there
silence
until the shells come.