Souls by Fire
Over the ridge at some disputed barricade,
I can see rising fires.
But not just smoke,
not just ash,
not just dust and fire,
but a dozen souls.
Innocent souls
Guilty souls
Souls that fought and died with reason.
Or souls that died with none at all.
Over that ridge of rotting corpses,
burning vehicles,
and drying blood,
a hundred voices rise with fire,
then are silenced...with another boom.
Here I stand before my barracks,
watching as this happens.
I contemplate this war as just.
But my heart says....no...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem