Twenty Something

Dance, drink, forget now –
the past has passed; we live on.
Hell – what could be worse?
But dreaming anchors nothing.
Fragile, like memory is.

We gaze at future
light, seeking what horizons
give. Our uncles bled.
Why press gold in old, sharp wounds
and blind the blind with promises?

Unheard voices speak.
Sisters, mothers – stand and count!
Will they drown it out?
The siren calls across seas
And when she calls, all is lost.

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