The world is cold
It demands unyielding tasks,
Forms unconquerable obstacles
And yet, it does not,
Will not,
Pick up the broken pieces or
Scattered remains left
When all is said and done

Alone they are left
Discarded they are left
Unbearable but to the kindest of hands
Irreplaceable but to the most willing of hearts
But there are none to the war hero
And so the lost remains forgotten
The heroes lay in bed

The trails faced for mankind,
The horror bore for another’s future,
Isn’t but a blip in the world’s radar

For it isn’t the person that matters
But the people
And their needs
And their troubles, wills, and problems
And so in the mists of the all-important lives
One tends to become insignificant

Lay in bed poor soldier
Know that the world does not worship thee
Know that heroes do not get buried in scared grounds
They get laid, in small, sharp pieces
Without a blip, without a tomb, without a future

Without a single goodbye or tear