Blood of boys

I stand on a field covered with blood
Of boys who were only just men.
Men not of age - some not more than ten –
But men on account of what happened to them.

I came across a boy like me
Seventeen, but died with seventy.
His body left out in the street.
The courage of his visage lost to decay.

He died for what meant most to him
Freedom and love for those who now cry
The things he’ll never take part of again
For freedom and love he died.