Empty Chairs At Empty Tables (Repost)
By Alacer_Cogitatus
All around the wooden table,
used to gather the men of fable,
drinking and smoking and telling jokes,
no one more happy then these poor yokes.
Sent to die in the streets,
in numbers no one dare compete.
The drinking and smoking and telling of jokes,
will be no more for those heavenly folks.
The chairs seem so empty, the tables are bare,
except for memories and lonely despair.
Friends there once was, but now no longer,
they gave their lives for something stronger,
a principle, an idea, the way in which we live,
now we do our part, their killers to forgive.
The dead will live on and on through the years,
with many shedding many, many more tears.
When the dust settles, and when the dirt clears,
They will remain, protectors of our fears.