Purple Lady Poetry

We are the ghosts of war not yet happened.
Our everyday lives slide and flicker over shattered remnants
And our voices, muted, echo our disbelief
Of how it could come to this.

This, we were supposed to be past.
This brutality. This lack of humanity.
Surprise; that simply being another century
Doesn’t change the human psyche.

It has happened already.
Time does not exist.
Only the memories
Repeat and repeat and repeat.