Remember

Thick brown smoke

Hanging low,

over the stretched plains 

of cracked dirt.

Foul-smelling stench 

carries across

the lying bodies, 

and blood-drenched shirts.

Half closed eyes,

dirt streaked across his cheek.

His matted brown hair,

his future is looking bleak.

His parched croaking voice

screaming for water,

as a dull blankness 

slid across his eyes.

Disgraceful slaughter.

Other young men shrieked,

in overwhelming pain.

Their cuts crimson and deep.

Lying dead as dawn came.

Wet with fresh blood,

they were common people,

young and elder.

On this day we

reopen that wound,

To reflect and remember.

Lest we forget.