or the rupture of a tenthousand.
From this jungle of concrete,
I behold a firmament of torpor.
Thick with cinders, among binders
A soldier gentle fall and
A communal roar ascend
Towards heaven
Angry little children yell
Coo-coo-coo, blast it! his pronounce
(If I could make tea, and
Reside by the pin code from yesterdays
Package). Like Defrocked Prufrock, he's
Hung out to dry.
The night sky is crowded with fire, dear
Can heaven be far behind,
with consent, descend through these porous veins?
Where these children enumerate,
Is where my feet will adjourn, and
None sing the ballad for the soldier’s return.
2 comments:
All soldiers vie for home,
In their minds play out their tune
Of obedience and obeisance to causes
unknown... Do we all search for hearts where the home resides? Or pay our dues, on foot, in cars, in bed, in rooms with or without views?
Well said, Anonymous.
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