From a Photo of War.

Mud; sludge; decay.

Broken landscape; fractured land.


Ruptured trees, like broken bones arising

From the mud, the flow of human blood.

Trenches filled with perfume of life

Deep crevasses, veins of stench.


In descript beings to life and death, huddled.

Are they bitter, angry or sorrowful?

Are they peaceful, or do they wander still?

Haunted, in spirit and in memory.


Too many shadows, old photograph.

From downcast faces and sunless days.

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