Conclusions From What Remains.
Updated on March 15, 2011
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.
