Tactics
in a rut
no, a trench.
pulled under like Ypres or Verdun
walls held up by bodies of dearly departed.
we gather here today because we have to.
so chew the dirt from fingernails,
swim this mud sea.
six feet.
draped flags,
bedsheets, tablecloth rags
set the places.
mines flower on this grave.
Copyright © Emily Harris | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment