To the Grave


Where are you that you can sting me with out fear of retaliation marksman? Making me lie in this pit of mud and rocks, the womb of the earth dyeing. Why do you wait in the shadows? Come out and face me! (Tries to stand up but falls) I see you approach me from the dark corners of my eyes and I say, stay back. Is it time to go so early? My body is still filled with rage and the adventure of youth. Has my fruit withered on the vine before harvest day? NO, this must be a dream that lies on the precipice of a nightmare. I must wipe the sleep from my eyes and cast away the warm blanket of blood. My thoughts rush through me in a harmonic hum that reminds me of a lullaby, I can’t remember its name nor want to.


After cursing you I manage a crawl to my gun half buried in the mud useless. I want to breathe with out filter but the air is poison. This is not war as told by the flyer and posters behind Mr. Joe’s pub. War was to between men like the knights of old. Whose escapades captivated me and encouraged me to destroy my toys for king and country. So when the war drums sounded I jumped to the call, leaving a young wife and a crying infant. Will I leave them? I thought I be back a hero some one to look up at not a statistic.


I want to go home and wake up from this dream, which is death. I want to go to work at the post office on this rainy Monday. Then get off from work and come into my house with the broken screen door, just in time for my favorite radio show the one with that old timely music. Then take a bath and go to sleep. I won’t have to kill or put on my mask or fear anything.  I fear my sleep will be sound however and no pinch will wake me.

I stay there in a daze for a long while. Remembering my life, what I liked about it what I didn’t. I think about you and what will it be after. Will there be tea and crumpets, family, friends, children, pets? What is it like, I feel you will soon tell me but until you do I will ponder. A casualties of world war two

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