Fallen 44 Poem by Joen Coronel

hard concrete ground breaks, nation mourns in chorus

feet of comrades take slow, soulful steps into an

eternal sanctuary weaved for the brave souls

to rest in opal solitude full of white roses

the day when lives drifted helplessly

in battlefield, in front of bloodthirsty

monsters, behind the steel guns

wrapped in cloth of cruelty

quilted by selfish actions

tinted by black deeds

greed, and dying

peace for them

but not for

us.

relentless

storm fires rain

incessant meteors

came from 3 directions

lightning exchange of quick,

tiny trains in action, heartlessly

maiming the camouflage trees into

a mass butchery, brown branches start

to lose color, barks rust in a fading motion

except for high-spirited hearts inside the leaves

lately, forty-four leaves also collapse during the fall

humbly join hands, golden sunbeams head to God above.

sheep with same wool bath in ephemeral, spiral tears

solemn memories of the fallen rise fresh in roaring

cascades, where waters are blue and new like

a sparkling sapphire frowning in the jade

crystals that once shone on their faces

a filament of blue, red, yellow and

white, myriad of true golds

now resting in stellar

ships, carried by

fellow friends

down to a

velvet

isle.