Enemy Lines
Wars, why do we thrist it?
Bullets, skeleton hearts, and dirt's
decaying mouth hush your slave
sleeps chains around zero.
Lover is dead the cupid shot
her in the head.
One foot on the earth
another spirit leaves.
Unknown judgement.
False religion.
Masks torn from the
hummingbird's wing
reflecting flight.
A flight of guns’ flaking nozzles,
of spring aching with
winter and summer's
disease.
Copyright © Rhoma Em | Year Posted 2013
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