Counting Cost Poem by Fred Rik Kesner

'counting cost'


When the final note fades,
we do not break formation.
We remain in the freeze frame
that follows any ritual
performed with care.

The banner lowers.
The field empties.
And I understand, at last,

that the charade he named
was never the march itself
— only the belief
that those who walked
were hiding something.

We walk because we must.
We intone their vow
because someone must remember
what it costs to not.















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