Black- Powdered Bullets
On a muddy moonless avenue
his drooped silhouette tugs
while the hollow niche of despair growls--
permeating a former soldier's anthem.
All dawn moaning, all night lamenting
with lost faith buried under clay--
robed in a cloth of delirium from a warfare furious,
blistered hands marking a smoked-alloyed existence.
Quarreling with ghosts, his eyes quiver
as black powder of bullets explodes
unto pools of flushed hallucinations...
unresolved wounds leading him into oblivion.
A threadbare sigh relentlessly lisps
while he begs with twilight for inner calm;
that young, wobbly feet roam on unknown ground,
as the black powder of bullets explodes.
Just like one nameless label of life's bloody route ,
he turns into a fetal shape on a pavement--
till grunts of combat tales echo upon the breeze
ashen grains hurling a lone figure... amidst coal of eve.
For Anthony Slausen: Black Powder Contest
11/13/2018
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Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2018
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