muddy nowhere 

It was a bloody, bloody mess.

A bloody

bloody battle w/ no chances of survival

for the soldiers.

Annihilation time had come.

For to wipe

out all the faces of the wild

and the gentle.

And then they were bodies,

just bodies.

A body at rest needs nothing.

And you were there, too–

I could recognize you,

even faceless and battered in blood.

Matted in mud, I could recognize you

by the tread of your shoe

on the soil.

You were smattered

in red marching ribbon and bread,

with the bodies raked soft to the tree-line

like leaves.

Wilted  leaves  to  mulch.

And the animals ate

the flesh and the bread of the dead,

in  the  dirt,

in  the  forest.
And the flowers were blooming

and the pretty moon was rising

and its glow lit up

the porous skin of plenty

like a blanket

on a baby, tucked tight.

After this, a face makes no sense anymore.
So this is an homage

to the skin of a body

that is wrapped

so precisely

like thread on a spool.

I guess

they just got tangled up,

and ended up, here,

to collapse in a knot.

A knot that was pulled to the edge of the forest,

where it ran out of slack

and was knitted together–

hence this bloody battleground:

etched in the middle of nowhere.


copyright: C. Ward 2016


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