They’ll write about them in history books
names engraved
on the side of dark granite walls
stacked evenly atop
with men they never knew in the flesh
In life they were teachers and firefighters
poets and undertakers
in death they are heroes
until the world forgets
it always does.
it always will.
sand spilling out of
a shattered hour glass
in times of war
the working class
become the dying class
callused hands
become trigger fingers
fed MRE’s and rations of instant coffee
In the end,
there is no such thing as a fortunate son
only the sons of the misfortunate ones
Dulce et decorum Est
Pro patria mori
To kill for your country,
the most honorable sin
yet to die for it, is the most honorable thing
America.
land of the free
because of the graves.