Beneath A Patchwork Sky
Soar over black earth birds won’t dare,
But flocks of bullets streak the air.
When rains on spring horizons loom,
Wreaths of shrapnel shall be in bloom.
Where I’m going, gods shall despair.
Wraiths of smoke will usurp the sky,
Mottle light where clouds nestled high,
Clods feud-flung into vaulting flights,
Soil memories of long-gone kites,
Smear winds by dandelions plied.
Where blood and sympathy are shed,
And in vain love with hatred pled,
I’ll serve a purpose no one knows,
When we march beneath burning coals
By a long patchwork sunset bled.
Copyright © Bernard Chan | Year Posted 2017