Always remember the two empty lines on his face.
Those lines that were pure, only of flesh, only with hope.
There was no peace in his death, nothing good came of it.
They said many times all was lost after he took his last breath.
I never met him, never personally knew him.
A part of my heart suffered in that field.
A part of my brain hurt for the evil humanity out there.
As those before me in a different era, I wonder how we got here.
This sharpened point in this place of unforgiveness can’t be the end.
Before the cruelty of death, his bloody face was a stain on civilization.
Powerful as the tyrants claimed, he should’ve been given more.
A chance to survive but he still owns his name.
The ones his parents gave him.
You might’ve heard of it before.
If you haven’t, you should know it won’t matter.
Names don’t have significance unless it’s given value.
Again with the reduction of fear, guilt, and shame of his likeness.
In the last moment of his final embarrassment, his body was gone.
He was not there.
No one knows when his soul escaped.
They deliberately chose to break the broken.
In the end, the survivors reacted to be part of the others.