Conclusions From What Remains.

Conclusions From What Remains.

© -MFB III

If bones

could write,
Oh, how coffins
would rattle

in despair,
Arlington would be
a cacophony

of calcium,
rapping out in

re-morse code
the pain of

dying so young.

Like Micheal's bones
cast like

a meteor
from his

unfulfilled dreams
lying dormant

in the wreckage
for twenty-eight years,
more time then

he had lived.
Each tenderly

dug out
boxed with

reverence
cradled in

a flag and brought home.

Oh, how his spirit
must have ached
for the soil

of his birth,
from that stench
of vegetating matter,
in the spoils

of Cambodia,
after a forbidden

incursion,
that took

his very soul.

What poetry his
bones could write,
what utter despair,
penned in

ashes, blood
and heroism

long forgotten,
Songs that his lips
will never

sing still echo
in the hearts of
those who

loved him,
and somewhere his
guitar still waits
its sound hole
a fixed scream,
of silence for
far too long.