May 19, 1914. Le Moustier, France.

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Love Song

In the early morning, a mother struggles and cries out
in that way unique to women since Eden
and pushes forth a daughter,
the most beautiful of her kind, the mother is certain.

Mother lifts her daughter to her breast
but the baby suckles only weakly and shivers once…

Or twice…

And, as her mother holds her,
she grows cold and stiff
for reasons known only to her people’s gods.

Her people dig a hole and scatter pollen inside,
and the baby is placed inside to rest,
the first time her small body is ever apart from her mother.

And winter goes and spring comes.
and Again.

Forty thousand times again.

Before hands dig into the dirt and find the bones
and lift them to the sun
where they grow warm again.

Joseph Hall

Joseph Hall

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I like long walks through the Afghan mountains and long drives through the Iraqi nights.

I’ve been a medic in the US Army, a police officer, a Border Patrol Agent, an Air Marshal, and an armoured fighter in the SCA.

I’m a man like you, a creator and a father, a student and a teacher, trying to earn the mantle of Warrior-Poet.

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