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History tells the story
again and again. Horses buck.
A chariot runs wild, reins ripped
from the son's grasp. Missiles fall.
Below, seeds blow through armored bellies.
A rainbow floats south in the tarry ooze.
The mangled armies clash in the dust.
Villages collapse into sinkholes.
Families lie under debris.
The son says a prayer,
rampaging over charred roads.

By Jeff Friedman