His camouflage struck me the most,
As he lay with his face down,
In a river of murky water,
Murkier by his blood.
Far away a little boy smiled at his mother,
Not knowing grief on their heels.
Who did he fight for?
Who did he die for?
His masters camouflaged their dreams,
And flashed his hope before him.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011