Before you throw me to my death
from your high and scornful tower,
just remember that certain things will always be true:
half of us are used like mules
to carry the others into oblivion;
we don’t know if the world’s first sound was
a groan
a sigh
a cry of joy
of pain
of hope;
if you throw a rock
a thousand times, it will never learn to fly;
somewhere the same men in the same uniforms
come alive the next morning
and fight again until cold night falls.
Published in Abridged
S.C. Flynn 