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My 41st Year
May 8, 2014
When becoming decades four,
All of the wounds, tears, hopes, dreams,
My brothers' deaths, the passion of the wounded, the horrors of war, never fading yet never defining,
For when dawn comes,
The long march did not seem so,
At peace, except the terrors seem now, forever in the minds.
© Mary A., Fullerton, CA
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