Faint Relations

I’ve read about the hundreds,
Yes, the thousands that were killed
I’ve seen the pictures
I’ve heard the stats
Looked upon them
As they lay out before me
Clean, like white washed crosses.
And the sight becomes expected
It becomes ordinary,
Ordinary, flat.
Flat like the faces,
Flat like the lives,
That peer at me from an open page
Who lays buried here?
Who lays buried there?
Does any body really care?
They had dreams and aspirations
They were talented and young.
But they gathered cares aplenty
As they reached to take a gun.
Perhaps foolish,
Perhaps not,
Their hands accepted fate
And they rushed to be recruited
Afraid to be too late.
I think I can imagine,
That I can see them standing there.
Smiling, bright, ambitious,
All clean uniforms and prayer
I think that I can fathom
The way it must have felt
To rush into the battle
To feel the bullets stealth
Confusing hatred for the enemy
With a brothers fond adieu.