The Bloodstained Afterglow
There is far more to this then what we’ve preserved. For four years we prayed for but a single moment of silence, and now it is all we are given. We hadn’t enough strength to bury the dead, just their memory. I could never imagine a life like this. With any given second, heroes are born and families are broken.
You could by no means realize that the beauty of all we are lies not in this battlefield, but back on the home front. The integrity of war cannot be found in the wisdom of politicians or the words of the storytellers, but in the bodies of every man, women and child sacrificed for the “greater good” of humanity and civilization as we have come to perceive it.
The tears have long since washed away our blood that once plagued the strip. There is an overwhelming taste of gunpowder and blood smeared across my lips, as I mutter my last rights. The final breath has left me gasping for perseverance. Caught between the crossfire I grieve over those fallen and find myself looking up from the darkest plot on the plain.
The fear that my legacy will become nothing more than a flagpole half-mast has become cumbersome. I reach for the map of my existence to lead me from distress and into salvation’s awaiting arms.