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Silence is bearable
without the weight of expectation.
We survive in limbo
waiting for the explosion, though the bomb has already dropped.
Life stands still, days meander slowly through memories of a time when love was blinded by the bright lights we adored.
We stare down the barrel of a future departed, careful not to draw blood as we tiptoe through our pretty debris.
 Sep 2014 Kyle Miller
martin
Gather his things, don't mention his name
I'm afraid he's gone for a burton
Someone saw him go down in flames
He's not coming back that's for certain

There is no time for grieving now
We'll shut him out of our minds
Keep him in our memory though
In the hope of better times

Tomorrow a lad will take his place
Newly trained, freshly faced

We'll tell him everything's fine
In the desperate days of the Battle of Britain the RAF was fighting to maintain air superiority over the Luftwaffe. The comrades of missing airmen borrowed the phrase  "gone for a burton", which was the slogan to an advert for Burton's beer which featured a picture of an empty chair.  The phrase entered the language, and it was relatively recently that I discovered its derivation. Sadly it now seems to be slipping out of use.
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