Proudly do we stand on defeated ground,
waving around battle flags under a blanket of white,
settling a settled score as if we could settle for less.
These boards could be stripped of all nailed down to them
until mist-laden remembrances are the enduring remnants
to testify to the ruin of bodies deemed crippled by inadequacy.
A hammer to the trusses for mistrust turned fatal.
A blow to the basement where innocence once so lovingly bowed.
A blaze for artifacts dated by faded meaning
until we are all that’s left
before our temples are laid to rest.
( ❤ Mitch)