Purple Order Of Hurt Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

Clarion's Purple Order of Hurt Chapter 7
meets in the hall back of the old Kennel Club.
Big brave Dobermans long gone now.

All that remains today is a dusty hall-
shadows and vacant places on the wall
where plaques and photos once hung
in profuse display like the casual disarray
of an empty barracks after troop dispersal.

All that stays behind to haunt the premises
are old men with fading memories -

Once baby-faced soldiers they recall
the bodies splayed in morning light
naked feet stripped of GI boots
hands bound behind with straw rope
eyes open staring at the heavens
like wingless angels fallen to earth
mortal beauty muted and desolate

Clarion's Purple Order of Hurt
gather in spectral rank and file
a phantom band of brothers
they answer the clarion call of duty
once more before Gabriel's trumpet sounds