In Violent Fields
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This poem is based on personal experience in Vietnam. Sometimes, in war, there is simply nowhere to hide This desperation before death is worse than death itself. Death is the relief.
In violent fields,
No eye is on the sparrow.
It flits amidst the rage
Of sling and arrow.
And though to it
No refuge calls, still,
It beats its wing
Until to earth, it falls
A breathless thing.
How frail a thread
Holds hope above
The fray. Too soon
It yields to weight
Of mortal wound.
And sparrows lie
In fields
Like buds
That never bloom.
Copyright © Ted Owens | Year Posted 2022
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