Death In the Trenches
Heavy, soaked.
Stifled gasping, climbing.
Wounded and broken,
Clung to the thorn vines.
Arms cannot grip, stringy gelatinous pus
Oozing from where dust and tears meet.
Crimson films dull vision, scraps of metal
Embedded in skin, breath drowned in blood.
Trenches hold no warmth nor light of the sun.
Though stinging, crawl upon to see one last time
The sunset upon angelic, pink clouds.
Falling and cracking ribs each time,
Life no longer whole, drained like a cracked chalice.
Heartbeat echoes the battles of batteries in distance
Writhing, floating, dragged out of consciousness,
Until dreams of amber clouds and ethereal song
Cause burning longing. Cursing the chorus,
Scraping the walls of unfulfilled good without fingertip,
Meeting the end, there is nothing of choking dust
Or the biting envy for the moth floating freely above.
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