And still they fall

 

And still they fall,

daily, into

the trap of blood.

Transfusing the dust

with their red tears

and pain,

echoing the past

in their passing.

Nations pass

their unlearned histories

in a relay

that knows no finishing tape,

no applause

save the silence

of remembrance

and the podium

of stacked coffins.

 

And in the soil,

below the fields,

bones turn and tumble

in anguish,

sacrificed

for the forgetful.