Every Generation Remembers

By Bud Koenemund

For those who do not know peace.

Every generation forgets
Stories their fathers told; evoking horrors
Beyond the pale of humanity; debts
Recalled with cold sweat; mem’ries forever
Seared into their minds; invisible scars
Borne; never quite healing despite years passed.
This curse entices the young toward valor;
A supposed glory they think will last.
So, those terrible lessons must be learned
Again; steeped in blood, and death, and madness;
Where the dead are free, but survivors yearn
For solace: a peace they’ll never possess.
   Each age is destined to fan war’s embers:
   Every generation remembers.

How Much of Me Must Burn?

By Bud Koenemund

For “Her.”

Heat endures, though I wonder if it’s worth
Fanning embers of a love that’s dying;
Going cold by neglect, and growing worse
When it seems I’m the only one trying
To rekindle those bright flames of passion –
Once incandescent – desire that burned
In our souls. Shall I accept affection
Will never revive? The respect I yearned
For denied, my heart glows on a pyre
Since your scorn; while what sanity remains
Is condemned to the maelstrom of Hell’s fire.
True, I offered all… and would again;
   Yet, a tragic question lurks in that storm:
   How much of me must burn to keep us warm?