War and Peace

I watch the footsteps in the sand,
of gone, past, and ghostly man,
instead of going to the grave,
they walk the sands and sea today.

I see my footsteps so deep and slim,
where in the sand my foot sinks in.
But these mens prints barely move a grain,
on the sands, which they were slain.

I glance out to a sea of none, but calm,
watching water shimmer in my palm.
I watch this body of glittering water,
to think it was once a land of slaughter.

Omaha beach, that glittering sand,
was once a horrible, blood red land,
for world war 2, where soldiers died,
but back in America, families cried.