Parade

The palm upon the heart has shown to be
Fake reverie; remembrance of false past.


Bass thumps of heavy boots on macadam;
Thunder fall of high shoe on cobblestone;
Hammer of hooves of horses proceeding,
Slow-stepping the leaning, prancing flags
Flapping, flaming red, in the afternoon's
Boiling heat rising up the asphalt street. 


With each successive, occasional, stride,
Staggering, stumbling in remains of rags,
Flying flags, emblems of former nations;
In formation, skeletons to lock-step march
Together, mixed uniforms of former foes,
To unmarked graves, silent and forgotten. 


Among men there's natural ascendancy;
A refusal to be in-step: March with them.