The men that won’t return

for those on the frontline of war,
for those boys who left their ships wrecked.
your names cover us like roofs-decked
you are not livid at death’s chore

your journey is rain. its vapor
they make our dreams find their goodnight
and to our children they give light—
hope so tomorrow’s sun should shine.
through the earth, we would talk with wine
and make sure I own my birthright.

Ruddapoet