All Our History
Is Shared. Each of Us Wants It
Unique, Ours Alone
We turn to Glory
And Away from Blood Until
We are Overwhelmed
Taken by the Chaos
Of Forgotten Memory
And We Cannot Breathe
As That Memory
Weaves our Shared Tapestry More
True than Any Fact
Full of Glory and
Our Bloody Hands, Survived By
Our Forgiving Hearts
A Year in Haiku 