I stand upon bones and blood

scraps of flesh,

covering some bodies unevenly

and leaving others without any

at all.

I stand upon a hill,

that speaks to me in a language of

bitterness and violence,

a epic that shouldn’t be uttered

to the wind.

I stand upon the lives,

waiting still,

for some release,

clasping

hope tightly.

They will

remain lost,

strewn

among this

wasteland front,

still battling for glory,

something they won’t find here.

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