Lives, every one of them,
On hold, but unable to shut their minds,
To their homeward visions.
The stench of death infused in the wet mud,
Wet with blood, not water,
Bonds stronger than any at work or school,
Forged quickly and speedily made fodder,
Bodies returned to the earth unfinished,
A whole generation,
Either gone or forever affected,
Beyond their prediction,
So beyond yours,
This life is too ingrained,
Until asked to defend it with our lives,
So our children don't think we lived in vain.
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