Remembrance

Two minutes: not much.

Two minutes, once a year:
is precious, little.

Two minutes, even wrapped in golden sound,
is little enough to millions
not standing silent.

Two minutes, even wreathed in scarlet:
is nothing to the millions turned to bone.

In two bare minutes, unobserved by millions,
as many die as in all the years and tears of wars counted.

Two minutes. A lifetime.
A death time. A void.
One too many.

Two minutes.
Silence.