The foot of fog stands over burnt land
Scattering images of dismantled silhouettes
And photographed shells in tents
Elbows crying to break the bloody soot
Plastered to my cheekbones and dog tags
A class of ripped metal
No breeze to transport death and disaster to far away places
So it stays
Surrounding us and engulfing our minds
Eyes still in sockets glance
Around at the dying
Moaning for more time
I have slowed in an accelerated moment leaking
The sky has turned a shade of beige.
"I am prepared to die, but there is no cause for which I am prepared to kill"