I Saw the Warriors

A poem/prose of appreciation to warriors who have gone before us.

I went to the military cemetery today
I heard a voice and a ghostly spirit came upon me.
He said "don't be afraid I am the ancient keeper of the dead warrior's image".
"I am here  so that you may hear the dead and share the message with the world"
I listened intently, chills running down, yet my heart excited with anticipation at this experience.
Hoping this was from heaven and not a hellish trick on this clear and lonely sunny day.

Then suddenly appeared a ghostly figure  rising from the grave.
"I did this for my friends I missed having a family do you understand"?
One row over two rose up saying "we are brothers we did this for our country but our mother suffered oh such pain".
Another rose 4 rows over a nurse bent over wheezing "I did this for the men I know my dad he cried the day I died".
Then one rose and shouted
"We have seen what would have been and the world is better because we were".
Then suddenly whole rows shot up each one like canon fire till all 21 rows of 600  brave were in clear sight..
Never was there a salute so bold.
Each with different wounds some shaking, some crying, some frozen stiff all looking as if it were the day they died.

Then in unison they looked as if to look straight in the eye of everyone who hears of this report.
They looked steadfastly with a gripping glare and with one voice pronounced.
"Do you see what we have done for you?
Do you appreciate our sacrifice?
Could you say thank you?"
As a mist softly  lying down into oblivious silence they fell as one unit into their graves.
There I have shared the message ;so, what will you do?

-- Copyright Rhea E. Crosley Sunday July 26th,2009
R.C.

Reviews

[JohnL]

A visionary poem - and how apposite for the days in which we live. We do need reminding of the former sacrifice and now the current and even the future pain and death that will surely ensue. I believe this to be a step forward in your poetry style and always felt that if you could get away from the rhyme pattern that you invariably used, your work would improve and it has. May I suggest that you type your work as a document, carefully spell check and edit it, then cut and paste it into site. The work is not spoiled - it's too powerful - but it is blemished by slipshod spelling and error which our equipment offers us a simple way to avoid. This is very free verse but believe me it if real poetry. It also carries great substance in its content. Well done.
My travels in the USA have revealed to me a much greater respect for the fallen than here in the UK. Graves carry the Stars and Stripes on Remembrance Day and I have seen bridges on the highways carrying the names of heroes. In Britain, our men are inadequately armed and supported, often maimed men are in civilian hospitals because the military ones were closed down. Our polititians are robbing the tax-payer by thieving on their expenses - big style, while soldiers die for want of helicopters. May such visions as you describe haunt our so-called leaders in their sleep to remind them of the deaths of fine young men while they steal money that could bomb-proof vehicles and provide helicopters to keep them off the roads in Afghanistan - and should we really be there anyway?
British MPs have their moat cleaned at their country mansion and buy a floating duck house for their lake on expenses; they switch residences to sell at profit and avoid tax while soldiers DIE; shame on them. This really is true - believe it!
Yes Rhea - we do need poetry like yours!

John

[Wolfe Greytome]

An excellent piece. A few minor spelling mistakes (which I would probably attribute to fast typing, not imprecise spelling), but a wonderful message that is as blatant as a 21 gun salute - an image you used quite well.

[Tina Kline]

What a great poem. I agree, it is like a story.
And I think the question at the end is a very
important one: Do we see what they have done
for us & do we appreciate their sacrifice & and do
we ever say thank you?

Tina

[H]

Very moving. A story within a poem.