The Sonnet Of Remembrance

The Sonnet of Remembrance
Written by John Swartz

I lay here on a wounded field of Oak dust and blood,
My slain brothers lie next to me covered in ash and dust,
I whimper from the fear of death and the next to come,
I hear the marching feet of the goose as they torment me,
I hold my breath as I rise from the foxhole – gun rattling hard,
It feels like a rainstorm as the gun pumps, the recoil keeping me alive.

The cheers of the people as I march home,
Though the streets have been torn,
They still lead me back to my homely home,
Now the voice of my brothers still linger in me,
Their blood pinned to my chest like a hero.

We have fought for what we believed,
To save people who cannot fight back,
To show that those who are not free can be,
But to what cost must we suffer?
And why do I not show any regret?

As I lie in bed in this boarding house,
The floor scratched from mice and vermin,
The change from the dirt, mud and cold doesn't comfort me,
I close my eyes on the bed of hay and cotton,
And hear; and feel the bucking of the machine gun,
The blood of my German brothers washing the trees red.

Ten years have past and I remember,
The people I lost on that terrible day,
The mud and the dirt and the blood,
I see their ghosts waltzing through those trees,
And I cry for god to explain why I survived.

We fought for the government,
To show people we can fight back,
To show that we do not know fear,
But why did I come back?
And why do I know nothing but fear?

I walk amongst the dead on this rainy day in November,
Remembering the faces of my fallen brothers in that forgotten war,
I whimper in sorrow that they are not here holding this wooden banner,
We fought together like brothers; our souls carry the actions of the weak,
Our name for victory was whispered on the lips of our enemies,
But now I fear that God is gone and forgotten me - for I am still here.

Fifty years have come to past,
My tale is told to those who listen,
The heroics of my forgotten brothers,
And the lives that were lost in the terrible war,
But it's just those who were there that listen.

I lie here now in this muddy fox hole,
I have fought to save your lives,
They died to make a point,
But why am I forgotten?
And why did I not die with you?