Ghosts

Ghosts roam on board.
Listen, quietly.
Do you hear them?
The sounds of days
Gone by.

Many men cramped
In spaces
Small and hot
Sweat pouring out of them
From heat,
Or fear.

They do their duty,
Finding laughter when they can
When the time permits,
When fear has not clenched their hearts
And sorrow has not claimed
Their souls

Most of them make it
Back to their homes
To the loved ones
They left behind.
And those that don't
Shall always be remembered
By those that fought with them
Beside them
In wars that no one
Really wins.

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