War Dead
Raul Asoy
Turning dark crimson
Your blood stopped its slow
Downward crawl, too tired
To move another inch, in this
Field outside your veins, too far
To notice another organ’s
Arrested thumping.
In the loam where it settled
We will set a trough to rest your
Hopes, and shed the fear gushing
Out of an aperture, rushing from light
Until poetry can give you voice.
Here, where many times
Bravery was orphaned—
When bravely you became
A pause in power’s call to war;
There’s still no pillow for your head
Or a stoop on which to unwrap your dreams;
All you have for now is silence
In a still unmarked grave.
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