Now

Now—Wyatt Dalton

Note:

Note: This poem was the result of a writing exercise in which I took the first line from “Willowware Cup” by James Merrill and turned it into my own poem.

Mass hysteria wave after breaking wave,
washed over the field, filled with graves.

Valiant the true, brave the many,
but how many now can be found if any?

They fought, they cried, for the just, for the right,
but alas, all undone, by a few cowards fright.

Now they lay in a restless sleep,
the rest of patriots, six feet deep.

Watching as the world they knew was torn apart,
watching as the cowards few wrung bleeding hearts.