As he marched through the rows of crosses,
His thoughts went back to the past.
The times where it was hard to keep going on,
Where it was always war.
His eyes close and he's taken back to his world,
The world where the sound of gunshots were always heard.
The world where the smell of blood was rank in the air,
And the constant fear.
The cold biting into his flesh,
Chilling him to the very bone.
Or sometimes the heat,
Melting his skin from his skeleton.
A world where people could be turned,
Where nobody was on the same side.
Where families could be divided,
Just by a single choice.
He opens his eyes and continues on,
Pausing to wipe a tear form his cheek.
Finally he comes to their spot,
And kneels down on the ground.
He runs his hands along the cross,
Tracing the engravings in the wood.
He leans in close and bows his head,
Memories rushing back at him.