They/Rose

The thousand who
Died in the
Line of fire
Rise
The soldiers rise once more

Unseen
They put on a show
Nevertheless

The pockmarked bodies
Rise, levitate
Slow motion ballet
In midair

Apathetic of the war
Around
Their faces
Show shades of sadness

They move elegantly
Pirouetting up
Once more

Solemnly watching
They mourn
For those who shall be
Like them

The danse macabre
They shall mourn
By moving

A rose in each pocket
Of the uniform
For the incense event

Forever they shall carry on
To grow in number
For each is the victim of war