Ruins
As you walk past these quiet ruins,
Never ruined but fallen into disrepair,
Tattered flags and Symbols represented there
There'll be no sound, no indication;
Of the battle that was fought,
The echo of the horses hooves,
The booty that they sought.
Only because its hard to tell
The shape that these things would take,
The Time long past, the battle fast
And many the years to wait
Till discovery; till Now;
A poppyfield in full bloom
No fallen men,
No ammunition,
No trenches to be found;
Evolved and eroded,
The Past may have exploded
But now all corners worn down,
The shapes resume smoothness,
Just tatters to prove this
Was ever a country well-won
Or protected.
(From "Rice Paper Dreams", copyright Andrea Midas)
