A fear as tangible as pain--
To lie where other men have lain--
In death upon a bed of gore
Where blood is spilt at Heaven's door.
For nowhere else might one be led
From where the bravest lives are shed.
Those angels whose protection failed
Are mourning still for life exhaled.
The battlefield is seldom free
Of what is named "Absurdity"
By those at home, unblessed, untried,
Without esteem for those who died.
So God forgive, or better yet,
Place them where they can't forget
That freedom dies for he who yields
What's won or lost on battlefields.
M. Gibbs
