Poem

One musn't believe in war
or have to like force
for it to be so.

The storied armadas and brace
of armed stances, the piece
by piece arsenals and

A no-named faceless
weapon

The calm duty of following through.

One doesn't have to like it for
it to be so. One doesn't
even need to believe.

But, raise your sword I say
if your gonna raise your sword.

The better homeland battered now,
the indescript attack
still causes harm.

But left are the broken signals
still mindlessly blinking.
The old familiarity of
crossings rubbled,
the building blocks
of steps no longer
placed or
memorized.

Injury impersonal doesn't need
specific target for the
explosion still to go

The ground, if named once
needs no more than that
for it to be so.