Behold, she walks the room as though a queen,

Who rules alone where death has been,

Silent as the scented air,

That curls around her greying hair,

Fingers bare and intertwined,

Her eyes aflame, her face now lined,

For yesterday they sent her word,

Her sons had died or so they’d heard,

In wars she could not understand,

The reasons why, the marching band,

Or why the crowds called out for more,

Until the din became a roar,

And off they marched while singing songs,

To right the world and all its wrongs,

So were told the young and bold,

For so it goes from times of old,

And then in through an open door,

Like a broken wave upon a shore,

Comes a man she barely knows,

Transfigured by a world of woes,

Who moved towards her in a daze,

Aging with each change of gaze,

And raised his head from off his chest,

He really tried to do his best,

But sorrow is a heavy weight,

And always come when it’s too late,

Who said with slow and feeble breath,

We were foolish, we were proud,

We listened to that howling crowd,

Now all we have is emptiness,

Please, let’s sit and share our tears,

For missing sons, the wasted years,

For what else is left but you, and I,

A world destroyed, and all the rest, oblivion.