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Paupers need roses for their forgotten graves. Ruby red well-wishes dotting grey pockmarked final calls. Oblong death masks wimpering the rites of dead men turned saintly after expiration. Past due warriors left along the roadside to die without a name; burning dogtags shine the broken future of young punks looking for life’s purpose at the end of a gun. Metallic matte rifles signal warrior’s drumbeat, symbol of war songs, the aria echoes exit wounds. Full clip bullets hollow a scared youth.  Riddled brown corpses baking in the lively sun, late wind wrapping bodies in whistling gales, deciduous trees mourning the loss of spirit. Souls to the slaughter. Fathers to the single mother generation staring at memorial stones, searching for names of the missing messengers of violence, gunstar heroes. Confused tears come down contorted faces. Mothers with strong backs carrying burdens across generation lines, cursing fate and spitting at Time, the barren robber of us all. Long faces, sad entities shuffling through peasant life and short attention span society. New war new faces new mission zero. Soldiers fortune fifteen minutes as the old burn across the pyre. Veteran services choked for cash in billionaire’s world. Heavy apologies ringing on mass media with the twinge of repetition, empty words filling the fire. Some men just want to watch the world burn.

Tots grown on either side cursing foreign fatigues. Bitter pill half swallowed as the pride rises from the suppressed chest. Terrible screams hang silently before lost children on remembrance eve. Blood-curdling howls gather forth for admonitions and shotput guilt, let the heavyness lift from the sadness, let a son, daughter, lover, heal with the embrace of time. Let revenge wither to a spark never fed, old rivalry beaten to submission in the wide halls of history. The seeked after forgiveness is given piece by piece as can be mustered, grief swells into blooming roses left upon the resting place. Peace at last.