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ONE THOUSAND, SIX HUNDRED AND NINETEEN By Poet Maria Christou

By Maria Christou
Subject to copyright

ONE THOUSAND, SIX HUNDRED AND NINETEEN

I am the son, a soldier who fought so proud
I am the son, a statistic, a missing one
still unfound

I am the son, who they tirelessly look for
I am the son, below overgrown soil
no longer the \'esprit de corps\'

I am the son, with no shroud
I am the son, a mute thundercloud
I am the son deafened
by mother\'s cries, oh so loud
I am the son, a buried title
I was disallowed

I am the son, who cannot ease her pain
I am the son, a spectator
watching the search
for my remains

I am the son, who will never fall in love
I am the son, whom a family,
a Father
I\'ll never become

I am the son, with unsaid goodbyes
I am the son, awaiting Mama into the skies
I am the son, confessing she is
my bittersweet and only prize

By Maria Christou
Subject to copyright

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