Exceptional What we continue to endure even as I write this. Perpetual Question by Gerard F Keogh Rhyming Poem contest entry

Rapid rifles, fearful aim, from a smoking cellar nest. They select another target and explode a young mans' chest.   While the medic cradles gently, grim comrades bid good night. They close his eyes, collect his tags and prepare his box for flight.   He returns a name and number, while the bugler blows farewell. Families clutch the folded flag he did earn for where he fell.   Rigid rifles, solemn aim, they assail a steel gray sky. Great God above, embrace him. Did he really have to die? Author Notes Too much of this and then it always starts up again somewhere else.

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