They leave behind a fractured line,
Lives cut short by fate’s design.
Wrapped in words of honour, brave and true,
Draped in flags of red, white, blue.
Yet grief hangs heavy, a silent veil,
Where whispered courage starts to fail.
A widow learns to mask the ache,
To smile for children’s fragile sake.
“Will Daddy come home?” their voices plead,
Each question cuts, each word a bleed.
Silent tears fall, anguish met,
By haunting thoughts of what comes next.
Empty chairs on birthday days,
Unpaid bills, unsaid goodbyes.
Moments lost, time betrayed,
By all the things left unexplained.
Still she rises, strong yet worn,
Through endless nights and grieving dawns.
Hoping pensions, papers signed,
Might steady what was left behind.
They say he died a victor’s role,
But hollow echoes fill her soul.
Upon the wall, his photo stays
A fallen hero… duty’s praise.
MARYANN BOSAH 