When does the fighting end?

In another life I woke;

the sound combat

boots on the floor.

I stood in parade. Marching

as the bricks did.

Neat rows under shadow

of the flag.

-

Company orders kept us in line.

The lines we kept meant order.

At least someone's idea of it.

And our daily mantra

"With pride, I will defend it. With my life"

-

It was not my pride.

It belonged to some boy, dead

now. I wonder

who gave it to him?

-

He was not lucky to die fighting. The words

braved after under smell of smoke and sulfur

beat the pain of bullets. If he died in battle

at least the battle would have stopped.

~

In another life I woke;

The sound of Doc Martens

walking out the door.

I danced in the parade. Moving

As the colours did.

Waves of possibility and dreams

of binaries broken.

-

The hope kept us company.

The company we kept meant hope.

I felt it. I had no idea why, except

this version of pride

felt worth defending.

-

I thought it was my pride.

They made it their own for a while. But

they are almost gone now.

Not quite dead—Not quite alive.

-

They were not lucky to die then.

The ignorant ecstasy of young love fades

fast when the promise is broken. If they died then,

in bliss, maybe the bliss would have lasted.

~

In this life I wake;

The sound of heels click on

a sanitized office floor.

The parade is over.

Sigh; just more plastic

for me to pick up. Like the colours

picked off profile pages.

-

The company keeps us alive.

The lives we keep mean more companies.

They tell me to be proud. I try

to fight it.

This isn't what I wanted.

-

I'm looking for my pride.

She is somewhere, maybe in a time

far from now. I am fighting to reach her.

Why am I fighting again?

-

I am still alive, at least my body

says so. Others seem to disagree.

They want their boy back. I try to tell them

he's gone. It's supposed to be her

time now. This time it's supposed to last.

I'm scared it won't;

So I keep fighting.