Another Pome Read for a Gathering...


A quaint remembrance, or ‘In Remembrance’

It will become the damndest thing;
a seeing sending unit around each corner, tethered to
armored ships at sea, though rumored to be
steaming fast as reality
into the face of a minor objection-
Spending and spelling, buying, then selling;
we’ve a favorite habit known to all,
and each with its own foxhole reverie.

The backlit brightness of a foot soldier’s vivid memories,
caught between the thorny teeth of all the
machines, essence extracted and
left on the back doorstep with a stray cat’s shattered mice in hope
that the God within will smile and pause,
only for a patchwork-moment before going onto the day’s material hymns
and the night’s totemic, rightful dreams.

Hey- it’s not selfish, it’s what we've collected
beneath these very stars;
lidded with mists or pricked through
in Your service;
greeting the lonely or saluting the wicked
at infrequent prayer.
Regardless, in battle, the night can last forever.

Passing through at a pace familiar only to biology
in your wild places and in my heart,
each toils feebly for a national ideal,
and the impossible is inevitably, metacognitively worshipped .
Indeed, as both the brazen and weary pass from this
world in violence or in some similar peace,
It is only the rest who can keep their dreams aflame.



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