The Starlifter war-machine conveyor belt goes on
dumping our war dead unceremoniously after each flight.
I can hear them calling "Don't forget me here
under cover --------------- of the night.
If the ideals for which we sacrifice
our youth reflect a truly noble fight
and we truly appreciate our military's valor
and truly grieve as they pay the ultimate price,
why are our fallen soldiers smuggled home
under cover --------------- of the night?
(I have been upping the number of those killed in action since 2005, when I first wrote the poem and the body count stood at approximately 1400.)
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