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After the Fog
by
Frank Blacharczyk
They shook hands in good faith,
a smile and a pat on the back
then they turned and winked
the anthems boiled the blood, bulls-eye in the back,
blood spilled sanctioned rant stirred the blind, background music inciting the
audience into a
starring role.
In the fog...
the spark of a lie ignited the war and the reasons were obvious.
Movies many movies of great heroism, men impervious to bullets
resurrected to give interviews, hypnotizing the enamored masses,
cemeteries of the war dead are documentaries, silent movies with surrealistic
stars whose stories
would make reality vomit.
After the fog lifted
nobody knew why, the answer evaded even the opposing
teams, nobody could articulate why millions suffered and died.
But the war breathes in the history books, the living die over and over like
nervously chewed gum,
flavour disappears spit out only to be repeated.
From the ashes of the imagination super heroes evolving, veiling the everyday,
blindfolded turkeys
walking the plank with thanksgiving.
Once the fog lifted the reason forgotten, sweetened to taste, toothpaste brushes
the yellow
stains of death pearly white.
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