unknown but not forgotten

he whispered to the wind
and no one answered.
the rain fell all about
like soldiers slain.

the lightning dove for cover
on the rooftops.
he huddled in the
alcove just below.

red bricks with black graffiti
marked the violence;
he gripped his cloak and
closed his eyes to pain.

when morning came they found
him in the doorway,
his purple heart and Bible
all he owned.

they knew not whence he came
or how he'd fallen.
but all the same they wept
at his estate.

for in the midst of
chic urban wealth
there lay a soldier
slain by heartbreak.

12 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods