Oct 302013
 
The impenetrable monument
Does not verge or angle
In a time made green by grass,
Nor does it lightly lack
An upright pointing finger
To implicate a God. It is not
A comfortable spring; there is no
Useless cherry blossoming.

There were those that said
A people's greater than her nation;
Or that war was a mask
We had put occasionally on
To learn our own true natures.

Things were so confused 
It seemed that some might burn 
Until their aching hearts were new;
And so the ignorant citizenry
Walk like amicable young children taught
To know what is the past.

Though there were those who spoke
Of the uninstructed dead
Who sought a hallowed road home,
Other voices said its only
Stray names caught in a niche
Like dirt beneath a nail.

By measured statements that proceed
From a level look
There came at jeering last
The gaping multitudes, or a few,
To examine what had been done
About what had been said.
They came murmuring names
Or weeping, weeping,
Or murmuring names.

And to the uttermost of this
Still uncertain heart
I find I cannot confess
The imponderable waste of days.

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