Untitled Poem 5

Further along the fallow grass thickens
Wandering through a meadow of memories
Attempting to regain the green that is long lost

Up ahead serenity stands
Gleefully beckoning those who wish to listen
Signaling them to freshly dug graves along the gently sloping ridge

Those that hear stroll in unison
Confident in death’s march
Dancing wildly in war torn streets

Some fall, face down in ashen, puddle soaked gutters
Their faces still stuck in smile
As their bodies collapse, bathing in death

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