How quickly the two worlds collide, rip asunder and we stand in the gap between now and the past.
Heads bowed we remember the dead, the suffering, the sick, the old.
In that sacred space between now and the next moment, we stand and remember.
Then, at the call of the horn, the two worlds are one again, the moment is lost and carries on
The dead are forgotten, back in the graves.
The sick are ignored, the old ones lost.
Their voices half remembered, no longer as bravery but as raised in complaint
Against the wrongs of this world.