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The Fallen

THE FALLEN   I am young I am seventeen I stand in the sheltered cove at Gallipoli My hair is being whipped around my face I sheild my eyes, a draw a deep breath I walk down to the waters edge I look down into the many faces of the fallen Their hands grabbing at my legs pulling me down Their souls screaming, this was not our war to fight I feel their turbulent struggle for life, as they walked to their death's Most of the fallen not even making it out of the water As I am looking down into the murky depths of the sea, the water turns to red With each wave of life that hits the sand, it is stained with blood The blood of the fallen I begin to cry A tear for each of the soldiers I cry salty tears that are filled with the hope of the innocent I am not much younger than them With each tear that falls, the sand is slowly cleansed And when I have cried an ocean of tears And the sand is pure again I turn and walk gently over the sand careful not to leave any footprints Giving thanks to all of the fallen who gave a gift The most precious gift a life could give Freedom     B.Mafrici

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