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After the Fog


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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