Unlived, they rot,

in gray steel boxes,


20 something flesh

shedding from bones,

white mold growing

over decomposing mass.

Perfectly arranged

uniforms stained with

the breakdowns of

the order of humanity.

Sexless, breathless,

useless icons sealed


in tidy rows that

stretch over 4,000 long.

The muffled sounds of

twenty-one gun salutes


just about ten rows

over from any direction

disturb the ink-welled

stench in which they lay.

Future doctors, lawyers,

leaders, daddies,


artists, poets, scientists,

preachers, and dreamers,

archived in sorrow

all relegated to the past,

in a present unlived....

in a tomorrow denied....

in Arlington's wasteland.






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Comments 1 comment

ladyjane1 profile image

ladyjane1 6 years ago from Texas

Very sad poem

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