In blue and gray

In blue and gray
  they died in rows,
  then beasts of battle –
  vultures, crows –
  came down among
  the brown and red,
  and on the once-strong
  bodies fed.

A battlefield,
  a call to mourn
  the generations
  never born;
  like lights unlit
  these less-than ghosts
  who hang by fields
  and unmarked posts —

The quiet is
  our enemy:
  he bids us watch
  and makes us see
  the senselessness
  of much we do,
  the blood that lies
  beneath the dew —

They lined this place
  with blue and gray,
  and plaques and signs
  to mark the way;
  but whate’er might
  have been the aim,
  I will not leave
  this place

  the same

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