March On

“March on,”

He says.

My frail bones sag beneath the load;

Too many burdens hang on these tired shoulders,

Too many regrets of grand proportion.

Darkness falls

And with it comes the shrills of mothers,

Crying for their children.

The cries of villagers begging for mercy floats on the wind.

They ever hang in my mind

Like desolate frames

Askew on lonely walls, cracked and dry.

Morning comes,

Yet darkness remains.

There is no hope of dawn in my life.

“March on.”

And so I lift these weary feet,

Marching to the pace of a distant memory:

Drums that would play in my village

People dancing wildly

Singing with great joy.

It is all fading quickly.

Dreams slip through fingers

Like fine dust swept out of a house;

They linger in the air

Hoping that someone will see them as they drift by.

I see you child,

I hear your cry

A thousand miles away,

Yet I will stand by your side.
I will not give up

Until justice is won,

Until you have returned home.

Be brave, child,

Be strong.

Hold on.

March on.

Don’t let hope die.