magpies

the white grass

Frantic; I run towards the white.

Bullets blow, invading air.

Beloveds limp down, bloodied boots.

Sculpted screams cry out for home

In vain, laid wait for thoughtful flowers.

My heart hangs in a locket,

A faded photograph of her,

Noosed around my neck.

Love rifles through ribs,

As I stop for my life.

My ankle hits a face, damp with scarlet.

Teeth greet the dirt.

Eager; I open my eyes to the white.

Laid in the white grass, I hear harps.

They sound like her voice.

I meet her running towards me, branch in her mouth.

Opening the gates, escaping the horrors.

She's getting near and my vision is blurring.

My ankle hits an angel. Now, it's a corpse.

Awake; white is black.

And I'm buried in the mud.

Alive, I sigh. Feet stamped on my uniform.

Yellowed skin, matches the men scattered around me,

I wish it didn't.

I run again. Fast.

Although this time, I run the other way.