Bones of pain, joints that ache

Like the first break in the heart of a first love, shattered

Dreams-yet, left exasperated for renewal

As words bleed upon the stony page, Yes!

Of virgin white,

Words that are lazed at times

Not quite knowing where to place the rhyme

Nor the metaphorical stance –

And yet, they appear to dance…

Of rhythm that beats with time,

A body that lay reclined

In an allegorical hindrance

Of unfathomed meter…

An undaunted time of war, returned

From ’72, spat upon, a solitary woman, and yet

A privilege of cadenced time, oh but yes, though not

While these bones lie in rot, and not of napalm

May I lay claim from, No!

Nor of Agent Orange falling

From the skies of a jungle riot…

Service of ’72 was proud, honored, and true

To the word freedom

And all she construes.

A beautiful lamentation of…

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