Undercurrent: Poetry

She spied the corpses on Memory's war fields
disfigured by time and truth,
boasting illumination in flashes of light
that encouraged contemplation
and leaning into the unknown Silence

These are the things She can’t reconcile at night
when the sliver of moon is jesting through the window
and the frantic beat of wildness courses
through the veins just before dawn

It departs as the Sun blazes on an indifferent world
that pays no heed and gives no notice
while the sunlight revels in its own glory,
seeking the Day's natural fulfillment

Yet still hearing the heartache of the nocturnal,
She remains stunned and confused in this undercurrent,
stumbling over the dead bodies of dreams
that made her flee the familiar streets 
where Her combat boots used to roam.

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