The Fallen

• Alice Sinden, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2013

Blood, old, brown and dried,
Blood thick and red from those still alive.

Dead men hang from barbed wire,
Oblivious to the ceaseless gunfire.

Deep in the night flares light the sky,
But the dead men slumber, it passes them by.

Then at dawn early next day,
Some poor lad will have run away.

Sooner or later he will be up against a wall,
Shot by his own side to join the many to fall.

Many others will take their own lives,
To escape the madness which slices them like knives.

Innocent men died in scores,
For the sake of countries who couldn’t fight their own wars.