Phillippa Harris - R.E.

From above the view is weak
Underneath crying out to speak
Visions of glory distant in myth
for blood runs thick in their veins
The brass is sharp, the silver blunt
War cries for peace
Blue glass fading the green is growing
The silence is killing, no soul.
The babes whose mothers did not solute
Vanish to descend
Go home. Cry. No soul.

Phillippa Harris

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/r-e/