Memorial Day

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It’s a sad day to be happy,
Memorial Day, when the lives
of the dead are given a moment
of our presence.

With no love of soul
we become machines of the wars,
and find little compassion
inside our own selves–

a sort of suicide bombing
of our own loving nature–

So I remember a father,
an uncle, who have come
into the earth in heroic effort,
and am struck with their pain.

My own happiness doesn’t
arise out of the actions of others,
but from what I have always been–
since before my hours

on this ball of dirt. I carry that
silent thrill under my animal
bones, and trust that fallen men
live yet in that same realm.

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