antidote for death.
Each love remembered does not wholly die.
Maybe one thinks loved ones will recall
One's sacrifice preserved in ritual,
Redeemed by more than meets the buried eye.
In homage do the fallen draw their breath.
All, then, have a stake in memory,
Living in the hope of honor due.
Death might all obliterate, but all
Act with their post-mortem lives in view,
Yet longing to be loved in worlds to be.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon