Thunderous almighty Hymns
offered up in glory tones,
cannot replace our severed limbs
Or grow new flesh on splintered bones.
Nor, all the well oiled smooth prosthetics
fuse a mind flashed white with shock,
enough to jolt what stalled kinetics
Restoring life where now there’s not.
Through their smiles and stoic grit
there stalks a shadow lurking low,
and yes I see the curse of it
That only those who’ve lost can know.
The pride that shines in Un-warred eyes
is pity inside out,
just like a promise turned to lies
Forgot, it counts for nowt.