Mackenzie Mattos’s “Ypres”
The cobblestone streets echo
with the sounds, redolent of those
who once trod here
those unshod few
and thousands suffocating
in defecated soles

These streets reminisce and remind
of unnecessary enmity

The hills are silent
marked by unmarked stone
showing untold stories
of nameless uniforms
in shallow poppy graves

Those who stayed
were left to cancerous remains
rotting, from the inside out
Screaming of pain unfelt
pain left for no-mans land
and feared long after
Living in the shadows
of far-off Dragons
whose clang of gold
smothers smoke, shots and screams
whose legacy does not wither

The berries which stain
pale hands of old
will not wash away
but grow the greatest crop

The cobble falls silent each night
A bell tolls, the white hills lay empty
the city goes on
but the steps are not the same