Tomb of the Unknown Terror

Frantic fury,

they scramble.

Bombs and bullets blasting

crowding streets with panicked screams.

They grope for safety

but their hands clasp falling flesh instead.

Worlds away a flag is placed upon a face

to somehow remark remorse and offer condolence.

I, too, veil the flag upon my figure,

hoping it might resonate a stance of unity

and offer solace from this distant empathy.

I bend amiss, confused and broken.

I want to run and aid, but my leaking breast cements a stay.

My heart bleeds, voice bleats, and hands fold-

praying mercy far away.

From these ashes beauty will arise, but how? When?

Should the gate be locked and security preserved? Will a bolted door keep the people secure? Will it shut them in to fear, decaying far more than crushed bones?

Oh weaver of this fraying tapestry come mend; lend insight into providence, protection, and preservation for a remnant.

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