Those Who Rose
I live among those who rose
from without the wreckage of waves and the ruins of rage.
Whose ear-drums were punctured by the lance of thunder, whose eyes were blinded with visions of fire.
Yet glimmers of home's star
prevailed when they were held behind bars.
No moment to mourn over youth's decease when disembarking on Normandy's beach.
Many would remain on that red terrain,
there are few nowadays who remember their names.
Survivors still see the fallen
in dreams all of a sudden
cries of brethren beat, shattering the eardrum- shaken.
The longing to embrace a lost brother's face does not age in the direction of death.
I live among those who rose from without the wreckage of rage and the ruins of waves.