We walk the hallowed grounds,
light feet weighed down with deep respect.
Every spire speaks uncounted volumes,
tenuous ears lend well under a sun drenched sky.
Firm shouts and distant laughter are quickly drowned out,
firm footsteps take practiced corners with a snap of the heel.
The storied clock tower sends young cadets sprinting the checkered squares,
Leather cases clutched tightly, armed only with determined leans.
This place has changed me somehow,
beyond the history, underneath the regrets.
More than a tour, less than patriotic duty.
Deeply fabricated memories manipulate perception, once again.
-b2
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