The Afghan Thirteen by RL Brown 

The pulse is weak,
life's vanishing vapor,
Thanatos grins when
breathing ceased.

Death's grim triumph-
of the Afghan thirteen,
fallen, betrayed, 
left behind. 

A country's demise 
by the hands of a few 
won't be forgotten. 
America's heart bleeds.  

Hope hurts and hope heals, 
shattering the grip of hate-
past and present repeat. 
(1776)