Soldiers' Graves

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These men are as cold as their guns
As well polished and just as alive
As their over-shined boots
These men are as pure
As the mud they wallow in

But their graves are pure
Pure, pure, white
Blindingly so.
Pure
For the purity that never existed

Neat white rows
Row upon row upon row
Where are the rows for those they killed?
Where is the pure, pure white for those who really were pure?

Neat white rows
Row upon row upon row
Such neatness
Such purity
Such lies.





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