The Unknown

He is lying in the basement with his ID disk intact;
he died alone and forgotten when the house was bombed and wrecked;
half-buried under concrete, the years heavy on his bones,
you hear his cry for his homeland when something in the walls moans.
In the next corner another, his half-moon glints still bright;
the other half was taken to be carried home that night;
but it never got there, as the courier met his end
on the same street a few houses downstream from his friend.
Who will tally the nameless when the rebuild team gets here
to demolish the past and erect a brand new fear?
The new prophets of destruction will climb the pulpits again,
expensive suits, shiny smiles and a scorn for their fellow man -
will we be the new nameless of their new master plan?