Souls across the world will arise in the morning
to yearn for another chance to meet the sun
with anything but regret and mourning,
but their nightmares won’t stay tucked into the dark
and death will live on in a reel –
a flickering torture –
of unwanted daydreams.

An army of billions will wash away sweat from skin,
dry and realign their tresses,
and pull on garments over decades of scars.
They will put on a face like flint,
lace up their armored hearts,
and stand in another day of self-punishment
to ratify the guilty aftermath of an escaped fugitive.

A silent army
will peer ahead, internally stagnant,
and move into the future,
striding to the heartbeat of ongoing death penalties
knowing the muffled screams of dismemberment
and the cost of hidden bribes.

A generation of broken brigades will march to the cadence of injustice
as its very own warriors battling old selves
and their minds will grip onto the bars of their spiritual prison
in the freedom facade of the walking wounded.