Death, Hope, Peace, and Fighting Constance

On the eleventh minute, of the eleventh hour, on the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, in the year of our lord Nineteen-Eighteen

There was silence.

Seemingly A hundred million dead in the face of regret
No Fathers coming home to hold a son
No Brothers for daughters to annoy all day long

All that is left now is silence and song

Through the mud and the blood and the dead
There is the only the memory of the fallen
The lost feelings you can harken
Thankful to be alive yourself and not forgotten

Through all the pain there came peace
The mist heavy in the air
Hope was growing and taking a dare
Taking what was lost to create care

On this sacred month this peace is all I am thankful for
Because without it there would be none the rest
No Turkey to fill the stomach in your chest
No Buck to hunt and take pride in conquest
No normal to live for in all confess

So take today and hold it sacred
Remember what others gave their lives for
Remember how they took death and made something more
Fight for it in your life and make it as good as days of lore

Farewell my child while you travel through the silence
Travel through a world laced in violence
Fear, oppression, and muddied conscious
Hold steadfast to love, peace, and Constance...