Lost notes
muffled by wayward apparitions
seep out of the stormfront
weeping their dreary sound
onto loosened images
etched in shades of grey
carpeting a lonely landscape
where melancholy lingers.
The flowers of the forest play on.
Fallen bodies
clothed in camoflauged discomfort
loom over clay remnants
laying on an abandoned field
where fog blurs reality into images
of inescapable battles
shaken by confusion and chaos
blaring painful moans into the silence
where death preys.
Good friends never come back.
Last notes
strike chords of far away sorrow
meshed with poignant passiongs
echoing on the edge of fog fed lightforever lost in the blues
where silence renders memories
where life once harboured hope.
The world waits for the sun to rise out of the grey draped hills
Until then.....we will recognize
For whom the bell tolls.
For whom the pipes whine,
For whom the hymns are sung
and pray for peace,
heart and soul.
heart and soul.
