Colin F. Jones

THE DEAD ARE DEAD

Tis not the dead who suffer due to war,
Tis not the rotting bodies bathed in mud,
Tis not the wasted dead of the army corps,
Lying in muddy pools of their own blood.
The dead are dead and conscious then of naught
All that they were has passed beyond the dream,
There’s no glint of light in their dead eyes caught,
They absent lie as though they had never been.
It is the survivors who must bear the cost,
Feel the pain and take their troubles home.
Those who receive them; they will suffer most,
Those who grow old with wearying flesh and bone.
And time will make the memories hard to bear;
Those sadder thoughts that soldiers cannot share.