PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

From the graves forth,

To the last frontier in hopes,

For peace at last

A man of stolen humanity and innocence

Whose tear's were stolen long ago

He had no name,

Only a number

But when the fire died out

He would tell us in broken pieces

Of our sacred language

Of lambs and lions 

And of a land where flowers

Never grow

And although shunned and hated,

He would look up from the ground

And smile so boldly at Fate's eyes,

Ask him of what was and is,

Of what will be and what will come

While the violin cries

For those who were never returned

To mother earth's embrace

And before death he laid down

Calling me over

He took me to his chest and whispered

Of a land with no more lambs,

And not a single flower

To decorate the empty graves

Of those who will never smile

But will never be forgotten