For those we never knew, placing their hot hearts between cold blade and misguided rounds of freedom flights and crash and break and blood.
For those who never needed the fight, yet marched blind and trusting, like babes into the woods of tangled fear and rip.
Lost. Loyal. Cared not for, by many who held the pen behind calm desk and full belly.
For those who believed in the need to spill his blood and hers and theirs.
For those who remained on sodden soil. Wet flesh and sticking. Turning over to cold bone beneath our tears of the long goodbye.
For those who returned. Wounded. Broken. Removed.
For those who soothed and softened the brow as sharp pieces of snapped soul spat and tore and clawed, forcing the angry fist of wars not needed...atop her violet scented throat.
May we never forget.
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