A flower, Fingers drawn out
As to hold the beauty
Touch
Feel,
Look,
Beheld in the eyes,
Seeing this radiance of
Colour,
A tear surges from emotion
Lashes capture this
Tear,
Water,
Falling,
Before it hits the floor,
A palm wishing to hold
But never grasped,
As this was a sight seen
Eyes,
Cold,
Dead,
Eternally looking
At the beauty before a
Breath,
Expired,
Exhaled
His last look was of
Beauty,
And his thought was
As he lay still,
Was how can there be so
Much beauty in this field of war..