Paul McCann (March 10th 1956 / Belfast)

After a war a soldier sometimes has to cry as dreams of those memories waters in the eye.

It's very sad when this world of ours goes to war.
Peace is the thing that soldiers have fought and died for.

With hands held in the air a soldier cries a bit but people are blind to dreams that do not fit.

Some people abuse this world but one day they'll find that they've lost their battlefields and they are unklind.

Lost battlefields and dreams with no victories won, following the forgotten hero.
Here they come.

They bury the dream because they cannot recall what it was that made the Soldier stand proud and tall.

Soldiers come from all walks of life.
Sisters.
Brothers.
Soldiers with many dreams seldom shared with others.

Soldiers who had loved ones and families back home.
Some soldiers are just children
and still on their own.

Honoured I feel to remember soldiers this way.
I salute them have I your attention I say.

Stand at ease,
fall out.
Sir nobody knew his name.
Dear God you know who he was our dream was the same.

Undaunted was the soldier in the face of fear.
No turning back.
Each soldier shed a silent tear.

But I wonder why no one hears the soldiers cry.
Listen today as soldiers go to fight and die .

Try to imagine the soldiers forgotten dream.
Keep the memory of what the Soldier
had been.

It haunts us today and remains here in our time.
Ghosts with forgotten dreams remain.
Its such a crime.

What the soldier fought for is what we must redeem,
as we look back and try to recapture the dream.

The ship's sunk and they say,
we're glad we missed the cruise.
Don't take for granted things in life we shouldn't loose.

When the battle is over and the dreams don't sit.
Every soldier must cry just a little bit.


By Paul McCann