All the ages

A badge of honor anyone would shed:

We have joined 

The collective loss

Of all the ages. 

Yellow and brown. 

White and black.

In a primal scream. 

In bitter tears. 

This loss,

This god-forsaken badge,

Is what binds us. 

Our fingers comb its thin edges,

A photograph, 

The smell of sulfur, rot, gas, gunpowder,

Sunday’s mowed grass,

A flag, a meal,

A holy book,

A voice and laugh captured, 

We can only remember, 

And wait, 

To be whole again. 

To know once more,

A thing not counterfeit. 


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