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Mornings brink.

The shafts of phosphorus hit the jagged barricades  

no sense was made from the order

seven by seven deep

flanks of men

was not a tidy sum

their exhaustion was pliable

the order cut like a  knife

by the mornings crescendo

the stark landscape exhibited

the remnants of the infantryman

was plan to observe

they had hardly set foot from base

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Written by
topaz-oreilly
English
Published
May 25, 2014
Lines·Words
12·61
Notes

#war

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