Speaker for the dead
by 
Heckyspice
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Posted: 11 November 2004 Word Count: 105 Summary: On the day of remembrance, I felt compelled to write this. |
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In their proud company, I am not ashamed.
I am the speaker for the dead.
Even though my voice is a whisper, you can always hear me.
Every step, every bullet, every prayer said in the mud is never far from me.
Look on my face, be it marble or granite and you will see the face of boys and men.
Lost forever from this world but standing together in the twilight.
At this time of year new comrades join us, as each poppy is laid down.
One by one they come to join the company of heaven.
And they no longer feel the cold.
I am the speaker for the dead.
Even though my voice is a whisper, you can always hear me.
Every step, every bullet, every prayer said in the mud is never far from me.
Look on my face, be it marble or granite and you will see the face of boys and men.
Lost forever from this world but standing together in the twilight.
At this time of year new comrades join us, as each poppy is laid down.
One by one they come to join the company of heaven.
And they no longer feel the cold.
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