suppressed sloshes slurp and squeeze though the gaps
in the oppressive thickness of forced silence.
patchy grass islands emerge eerily still
from the murk and muck of standing water

a land blanketed in purposelessness,
like an old man whose life is all spent in negotiations with time,
who sits in a chair and waits
for death to whisper in his half-deaf ears.

the land sits and waits and knows the inevitability of death.
slurp and slush,
the heavy boots feign stealth

silence amplifies subtle metallic clicks,
small metal masses jostle in a tunnel slung across a back.

the grass leans in to hear
the stifled breaths hiding in suspense,
betraying an inner working of fear.

sift and shush,
the soft brush of camouflage clothing against blistered skin.
there is no coldness in the air but the body shakes,
there is no heat in the air but the body sweats.

the air holds nothing but weight
and the body’s shoulders bend under it.
a weak wind carries whispers to paranoid ears,
and the metal mass meets fire and propels to an end

the air is unbearably thick to be pierced by such a sharp noise

it lays heavy on the crushed tufts of grass
that now hold the bones of a young body
that housed a mind old with terror.
beads of sweat still on a motionless corpse.