Graves of Ill Concern – Huntington Beach

(sonnet)
 
In graves of ill concern, their heads are laid,
With silent shouts that once displaced their fears.
For all their arrogance, these debts are paid,
The trail of quiet dead that brought them here.
 
The childish brave who brandished sticks and guns,
And yelled their battle cries at those who passed,
Now crushed beneath the weight of what they’ve done,
They killed their friends who so killed them at last.
 
They say that fools rush in where saints won’t tread,
And brave and foolish, hard to tell apart.
To seek to give yourself in other’s stead,
Then sacrifice them, too, is folly’s art.
 
“Live Free or Die!” it brought their great applause:
The "honored dead" for such a "noble cause"?