Stand. Battle a wanton hunger,
profanity, a darkened road.

                          The battle survivor’s fists turn to anger,
though vengeance is God’s alone.

Do you recognize guilt?
Can stained hearts be washed?

Go, comb through your lover’s shadow.
War, futility best abandoned.
His hands push through
grasp effervescent stars.

Mortal spirits plead their cause.



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