War
Echoes in tide
We meet.
Voices from the past,
Carrying herd story
In binds so neat.
We are strains against
Unruly air,
Sounding rhythm
And hymns
Of personal defeat
In war fought
Carelessly,
To a whim
Or two.
And here we are
Locked,
In a room,
On a pretty noon,
Indistinct from
Other voices
Fighting again
This time for space
In a serpentine queue.
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