PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The people march,

A great crowd clothed in tatters.

They march hour after hour,

Across barren ice lands,

And past corpses and carcasses,

Famished and frozen as night falls,

And the march shows no signs of ending.

Many stumble, never to get up again.

They lie in the snow, forgotten,

Dying under the night sky

As Europe destroys itself with war,

And nations weep and mourn for their sons.

They march.