A War Memory Poem by David Pettus

Not a soul hopes to be here
As the flesh tears from flying tornados of metal
The faces confused and enraged
Some clueless,
Some abandoned and lost
Some awake every breath
To exhale the life they have lost
All fighting for hearts to settle
Wether it be above or below
The smell of torn fresh burning fabric
The footprints leave echoes of childhoods,
Now taking a stand
To one day leave this abyss,
To write on a page
This atmosphere that was so dense,
In a burdened sort of way
Explosions through,
Threw body parts across the land
And Here I stand in the mist of this chaos
Holding the goodbye,
This hand,
The only part left of my friend.