The Chamber’s Capsule

Some today shall paint their faces green, white, red

parading in the streets

to celebrate a freedom.

Others don the mourning attire.

Years ago ink blots splattered history, people.

Drained bodies lay splintered in the fields.

Their arms were scarred with permanent ink.

Mine are too. Eight, currently, marking chosen devotion or memory recall.

Theirs a tag, a tally.

Clothed, a six star patch, fades golden, woven on their sleeve.

Then garments shredded,

Nakedly they queue, heads stripped too.

A silent march to gasping agony,

even children choke for air.

Gas fills their nostrils and forces eternal sleep

and scorched flesh fuels the pyre

of future inhalations.

In ashes they spiral down,

Voices quieted and prayers merely resonating.

Incline your ear our dear Creator.

Were we made for such a place as this?

Hopefully, in steady faith, bodies descend while

spirits draw ever upwards,

soaring into your care.

Etch the moment into history.

Let it be remembered.

They were engraved.

May this tragedy remain ingrained in the hearts and minds of generations following.

In remembrance, preserve integrity, honesty, justice, and faith

that this assault dare not repeat.

 

*Flow lost a bit at the end.  If you have suggestions for improvement,  criticisms that will aid not just mindless jabs, then please comment.

 

 

 

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