In memory of our PNP-SAF heroes, the Fallen 44
His father drowns himself in a bottomless beer
while his mother lay in bed, catatonic;
both taking refuge in Lethe’s embrace,
both unable to watch their beloved son’s eternal sleep.
While out there, the enemy is jubilant.
Celebrating his self proclaimed victory.
A twisted grin formed out the corners of his mouth
as he gloats over the robust stalks of the crimson corn field
–a perfect offering to his murderous prophet.
In the palace of the Chief, chaos commenced.
Fingers pointing east, west, north, south
like a defective compass;
shifting directions, running from shame.
Not one to blame for the hero’s demise.
And while his family is grieving,
the enemy rejoicing,
his superiors playing the blame game;
the hero in heaven hovered over them, thinking none
of the justice not served but,
of his wish to know
whom he will go to and say,
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Willyn T Trabajador