There's a scent of afterloss
In a field of day old hay,
Like blood left spilled
In a field of day old hay,
Like blood left spilled
From yesterday
On a routed battlefield.
Hearts lie bloody.
Good as dead,
On a routed battlefield.
Hearts lie bloody.
Good as dead,
They whimper,
With nothing else to lose.
And yes I know, the war wrought plenty.
And yes I see, the cows will eat.
With nothing else to lose.
And yes I know, the war wrought plenty.
And yes I see, the cows will eat.
But look at those with spades a-ready
To bury the dying.
And what of those
And what of those
Who break their own hearts
As they choose?
As they choose?
-jenn long
No comments:
Post a Comment