literature

Salute

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Literature Text

Listen to those trumpets sing,
what their calls to arm can bring.
This is where I stood my ground,
tell them lost & never found.

They took my soul in ebon night;
frozen now, free from blight.
Hollow men, cracked and dry,
why can't they all just let me die?

They took my heart, made me a liar.
Dead men now, getting high on fire.
I am death made manifest.
Reborn hard, made more & less.

Twist my life,
threw me away.
Stole my blood,
boiled it today.

Medals can't help me dig.
.
.
.
.
.
.

I am buried alive.
I always wanted to be Eliot… then I realized I lacked his wit, imagination, and natural panache…
Published:
© 2015 - 2021 Dedwerkz
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