The dead are always
fully-armed. Reduced
to ash, or buried embalmed.
We dress them in some Sunday
best, let fire or gravestone
do the rest.
They strike at us
from vales beyond
by poleax, spear, or
sword of flame.
The dead
are always
fully-armed.
Sometimes,
they don't even
need
a name.
They stand in warning
by dangerous paths.
What happened to them
could happen again. It
has happened before.
So we stand transfixed
warned off from risk,
and love,
and pain
galore.
2 comments:
Beautiful beautiful beautiful
Beautiful beautiful beautiful
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