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Dedicatory
The poet steps down, having finished his piece;
the Honor Guard stands and fires its guns;
all of this done in the name of Peace --
they really are the same -- all for one.
These thoughts among us -- the silences within --
minds still prisoners of that hell. And all
that was "Honor" then, now brings tears, like "sin";
things we were ordered to do, and not to recall.
The "past" is "now". In the future it will come;
both Joy and Grief determine one's life.
We dedicate sacrifices that spare Freedom's doom;
"The Joy Of Just Being Cuts Like A Knife!"
I pray to die forgiven -- avoid the sting of Death
that cannot touch my soul at my last dedicated breath.
