Early on, the substance held. The refrain still lands. War as a presence that has already passed through, leaving only the wreckage. He has been here.
Tell a veteran the street is not his, and the line comes back. Ethnicity, territory, politics, kept in the mouth and not the name. From the window she despised him for being there. Since he’s been here.
Rhyme and meter are said to drive men mad. Songs that sound finished while they say almost nothing fill the air. Only sadness. Only sadness.
The weight is different. Blunt by name, and the point still holds. He served, so some of those images were not invented. Jackpot. He has been here.
The writing is not set below. In the aftermath the sifting remains. What was lived does not outrank the page. The line keeps what it keeps. Since he’s been here.
The house of David is the caution, not the claim. The fighter left a song. The house kept the page.
Three years on, heav’n storm’n unrestrained. The same limit stands. An I speaks for every name. The L-RD of Heaven’s Armies, not our mouth. We confirm what that I has said, or we deny it. We do not wear that I. We answer it.
The image stays with the song. It does not sit on the line above. He has been here. Not an answer for heaven. Not an answer.
Soli Deo Gloria. —the school of Isaiah
Veterans supporting veterans. Bravo Zulu Films keeps the work in the open after the service is done.
Tell a veteran the street is not his, and the line comes back. Ethnicity, territory, politics, kept in the mouth and not the name. From the window she despised him for being there. Since he’s been here.
