Forgotten

The soldiers leave,
the ground filled with foxholes
and ditches from the
land mines.
The sandbags still lay
where they were
strategically placed
only days before.
And on the ground,
next to a foxhole,
Lies the shell of a bullet.
A weapon whose insides
were used to
kill
one time,
Which now lies empty and forgotten,
Like the names of those it
may
have
killed.

5/1/1990