I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Story Bone

When darkness spread her blanket on the battlefield, it wasn't the screaming of the men that kept me awake. The screaming of the horses drove dreams from me. The men had gone into battle fully aware of the stakes. The horses had no stake in the outcome. Horses don't fight for our side or theirs. The went into battle because they trusted the men on their backs to keep them safe. Their screams of pain and betrayal kept even the crows weeping in the trees. Lantern candles bob above the grasses harvesting spirits. Pistol shots send prayers to the stars as screams fall silent one by one. By the witches midnight all that's left is the amputated moans of the men still on the field who know help or peace is no longer coming for them.

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