Endless headstones stretch out in all directions,

names of shadow etched in the pure white.

Flawless rows of thousands sit atop freshly cut grass,

each with a message.

A light breeze passes through,

carrying the sound of gunfire

twenty-one times.

In the distance,

a mother breaks into tears,

her loss inexplicable.

Yet she stands,

a sea of white around her,

where the patches of green have faded,

and the stones seem to merge together.

She leaves a flower by her son,

where it will soon be lost in the accumulation of sadness

of the countless families before her.

As one who hasn’t felt the despair shared by the loved ones of the fallen,

the mass of graves seem to take away the individual meaning for each soldier.

But they add new meaning.

to the overwhelming sorrow:

An aura of pride,

suspended in the air,

hanging above the rock solid graves,

entrenched in the ground.

An aura of unity,

over the bright green grass,

and the repeating stones,

extending to the trees in the far distance,

as we come together,

for the dead,

for the alive,

for our country.