A restless walk, an endless march,
our legs were tired and our throats were parched.
And we walked on, from there to here,
not on a march of pride, but on a run from fear.
We passed the familiar faces
of the dead, the weary, and the thin,
the only source of life in the traces
of where the bullets breached the skin.
Our brothers in arms,
or rather lack thereof,
we knew now that the were safe from harm,
as their souls safely drifted above.
But they were in a place much better than our own,
we had no time to mourn,
our captors’ anger were their only emotions shown,
So we walked on, now our hearts, minds, and wounds forlorn.
But we’ll meet them soon enough,
at the end of the doomed path we trod,
for we all meet eventually, whether inferior or superior,
in the Kingdom of our God.