Was it worth it
you tell me
seeing them stacked
like logs three deep
a stream of empty vessels
where once brothers
sons and lovers breathed
their blues and grays
and browns now dyed
the singular shade of
dried and drying blood
the weighted air freshly
silent after the last
of the dying’s done
some believed you know
some didn’t
some were brash most
scared courage blooms
when death stirs turning
treetops and willingness
scared courage blooms
when death stirs turning
treetops and willingness
does not a hero make so
here lie heroes
when called they answered
can you blame them
what choice did they have
after all
what choice were they given
Words and image (c) 2018, by Hannah Six
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