repeatedly to stare into my own
reflection, to reach out and touch the face
that reaches back to me, to fall down on
my knees and weep for these, my brothers and
my sisters - we, a generation fed
unheeded to this sacrifice. We raise
the flag, as I my glass, to honor thee
my friends, my flesh, my blood. And yet we still
persist in playing out this senseless ritual:
our brothers and our sisters gone, we feed
our sons and daughters to this feast and know
it will not satisfy the passions of
the human soul. We'll send our progeny,
celebrating, all the way to Hell,
and carve their names upon another wall.