Unknown soldier…
Unknown soldiers.,..
(April poetry number nineteen.)
He wrote to his journal in a Soldier graveyard in France outside of Paris in 1979. The dead don’t suffer no-more. He is surrounded by 40,000 crosses with names of boys and men who will not return home. He burn the white sage in the place of the unknown soldiers. He lay his small tee-pee on the grass and put the burning sage into the hole in the tee-pee.
He watches the smoke rises to the sky and he prayed. Soldiers have a place to rest, soldiers have a place to know peace. He felt great sadness. He knew mamas, wives and children are waiting still. When a soldier doesn’t return home. Someone is waiting.
He wondered, if God is kinder to the unknown soldiers? Men and women, nameless and not forgotten. He walked the long lines of white crosses with no names, just dates and their war.
He wonder if the dead could talk. What would they say? Soldiers fight, soldiers die. Left, right. Left, right. Above face. One shot, one kill. I remember you my lost friends.
Coyote