Do you still carry it with you,
the rifle of the fight?
Are you absolved in your bravery
even though you did not die?
Do you see worth
for what you risked?
I could not smell your perspiration
as we danced the boogaloo at home.
We were all so young;
all of us;
no chance to think;
each in a different reality.
And there are those who are forever young
prisoners of the mind, of the soul,
of the earth framed in heartache by loved ones.
© revised May 26, 2012
Kathryn McL. Collins