by Oscar M
Mud lines their dirt tracks.
Obscurity of Summer snow.
Pismires underfoot.
Transfix on explosion
Debris that are arranged
As dancers on a stage.
Traipse along the
Palisade-lining.
Finger guides eyes
To feel the gentle battle scars
And recount their origins.
Sheep linger in
The valley below.
Turns to face the wind
And calls out to Gods.
Their response
Vacuously impassive.
And just like that,
Swimming in the sky:
Three kestrels.
Below, there are thinkers
And dreamers and believers,
Storytellers and poets
And playwrights. But here,
We are condemned to
A misery of observance.
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