First and last.
Parr and Ellison.
Only fifteen feet
apart, separated by a mere
heartbeat. A million drumbeats,
countless marching feet.
Yet in that brief distance
they saw war begin
and end
in that single
wingbeat of existence.
As we float up to the heavens,
we see a whole graveyard,
a generation of lost stories.
And as the poets spilled their blood,
they left behind memories
a tear rips the pages in two.
The impact they could have had,
if the world turned more kindly,
if we didn't follow blindly
into hate and killing.
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