Our stories of struggle and sacrifice,
of triumph and defeat, of loyalty and betrayal,
will be buried under the rubble of new wars
to be fought by those who will take our place.
The enemies will trample on our graves,
desecrate the sanctuaries of ancient spirits,
burn our books at the stake for heretics.
They will erase all memories of our greatness.
The days will be dark, the nights darker, at their coming.
In the end, no one may know that we existed and defied
the evil that stalked the land, that we held our swords
dripping with the blood of tyrants, high in the morning sun.
Time may mute the sound of our footsteps
on the hallowed streets of battle, our resistance
derided and forgotten. No one may know
that we breathed the fire of freedom.
Still, from the embers of our passing will burn
the young flame of new loves and new struggles,
perhaps more profound than ours.
Redmoon
9 March 2025
Redmoon of Bukidnon likes to describe himself as a trying hard poet.