Forgotten bottle sits upon
chilled coster so long ago
in a couple of hours
Radio still plays hits
circulating through a long-dead heart
VIII, so it seems.
five soldiers fall
into pre-drilled foxholes,
letting their guard down for only a second
just like any day though not
head wrapped in a cocoon
to let the butterfly emerge,
more like suffocating it.
The very thing bringing new life
Hoping for a new day of sunshine and rain
and telling my left from my right
foot or hand?
frogot my water bottle on my dresser.
radio playing tunes that I LIKE.
sounds about right.
— The End —