Relics of the war past lost
Lives worn, erode like caustic
Dream, a reality polar opposite
Vision is not an option
Limb to limb,
Man to a Man
Devaluation, perhaps
The collateral
Snake skinned and venom-less,
Our opposition deposed of pride,
Crown, Throne and a possible
Side effect most takes away as the only
Benefit to the thrust forced upon the sons
And daughters of the now childless, or less children
To coddle by hand,
Death was, is, the only salve to a wound never heals
Death pictured in voluminous detail
Replaying again and again, between
The rainy procession down the lot and in through
Stained glass,
The vision haunts, as the body is yet returned
To this matter the parent holds responsible the president,
Chief armament to a desperate many
Master motivator, manipulator, ignorant entirely of the fact
This highest honored American had no part in your child’s fall,
The previous did no such propaganda either, perhaps you see things
Different, difficult to paint a proper portrait when you only see in a solitary color,
It is your prudence to allow your mind it’s time to heal,
It needs coddling itself at this, the grimmest hour,
Not to taint my stream of conscience, with a viewpoint so personal,
But for those enabled skill sets aware, in whichever place your eyes meet word,
Read between the linear, obtain the non colored space and the shade it colors the spine,
Their position, their telescopic lens, periscope into and out of, will reveal
And what it reveals to you, the individual reader, inclined toward poetics,
Yet will not feign eyes from truth, what you feel, however you see it, those and more are my positions
But I shall induce one last transmittal
Soldiers are a special breed
Selfless, martyring if I should paint in such theology
They deserve more than they have earned
Celebrations should be on display, outside
The pat on the back, glad to have you home parade,
Each owes them, whether visual or not, look long enough come will the thought
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