Their Stories

I’m walking through a sea of memories,
each one with a story
each one with a song
each with one with a
dead
end.

The flowers and flags
tell parts of the saga:
turning pages in the wind
and whispering secrets
I’ll never understand.

Something makes me turn around,
and I see a crowd
watching me.

They’re waiting for my reaction:
am I courageous?
am I strong?
am I bold?

No.

Not like these.

Not like these who stood tall
with their backs to their loved ones,
gun shots in their ears,
smoke in their eyes,
death in the fingertips,

love in their hearts.

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