greeting the unknown

I visited the ancient cemetery, the military cemeteries where the martyrs and nazis are buried side by side. Someone liked to play guitar, some joined the wars from distant lands, beloved parents and children are buried alongside inconnu, the unknown. Neatly arranged in plots marked by crosses. Did they want crosses? All of them? The Italians grouped together by the wall, many Mohammed's arranged not with crosses but plaques facing East. I guess that's respectful. The Great War, all the other wars. Rows and rows of dead. Some graves kept clean, others overrun, all returning to the earth. Did they know there's a tram here now? That their memorial flame would go out? Never remember, always forget. Suffering and suffering, even now sirens roar by, screaming in the distance.