I have a soldier,
a soldier boy sent off to war
to war
To warm
with fire-arm heat
his heart
might go down
in a b l a z e of glory.

But my bed is cold and empty.

Our connection as thin as the paper his letters are written on...
dirty, ink smudged,
worn out love.
My heart is his used bullet shell.

There are open arms offered to me here...
But if I took them.
Held them.
Let myself cry these oily tears...

That fragile dog chain between us...

Would snap.

Those hollow soldier's eyes.
Like two hour glasses
with all the sand run out-

would look out into the desert
dry.

Eyes thirsty,
For someone,
For some touch of home...
Would run dry
dry.

And he would b u r n out
in that b l a z e of glory.

For a traitor.
A traitor like me.
Weak-hearted heartland girl.

An enemy within.

O for the love of him am I put in such pain.
Odd that love should force such a breaking.
This breaking.
That will break both our hearts.

I have a soldier,
a soldier boy sent off to war
to war
to a war
while my mind fights battles of its own.


Anonymous
02:29:25 AM