Disregard the fallen

Pass what has passed

They say not to cry over spilled milk

Stillwater in a glass

Put the words upon a gravestone

Return the nutrients to grass

Treat the grief like checklist

Burn the pages when they ask

But we relent

To think of times that we spent

With bodies bruised

And backs bent

And instead we invent

A shattered sense of nostalgia

A fortress that’s really a tent

With paperthin fortifications

And scotch tape for amends

We forget the flipping coin

With good sides and bad

And let history repeat itself

The context is a laugh

A joke

For we decide not to listen

For the spirt in those who have risen

And instead create conventions

A band-aid for a wound

And the scars become our invention