(atl cath shrine, MLK & central, atl; 04/25/08,0808)

I just pretend that i'm at war
with my men
not my men
at the front lines
away from a distant home of lost
found memories that come in a smuggled
creased letter each month
every other while missled thistles
scratch my exposed and wounded flesh . . .

darkened by birth
blackened by the dry
blood of my dead friend, yesterday

I buried him deep
deep so I wouldn't have to hear
his voice, see him well up his eyes
smile through tears of joy in his last
moment of prayer
his arms reaching for God

It's time to go to the next grid
lids riddled with the bullets of age
rage, sweet and sour mud from
a different shore

I tire, but
I know there's a higher power involved
who solved my problem yesterday
before I joined my friend -----

I don't mind death now
I've just forgotten how life was
when i was young
less trained for the duty I
not face

my face
filled with the occasional
haunting smile

the picture and tag
still to be sent to
anyone that cares
along with

words

the gate's been closed
and locked for an
hour now

the hot sun, the flies
start to arrive to
feast upon the
past as

my buddy lies
at my feet

my guts
floating in the
nearby stream

as lovely as
it was
yesterday.

(c) 2008, simpoet