#so I thought poetry would be a nice short reprieve instead :^)

[firewoodfigs]

lover is childlike 

love is reserved for the childlike;  a snapshot in an age of innocence under a glittering summer sky.  ephemerality cradles our blissful heads  in blues and gold, as we mull over dreams, undeserved. (unfulfilled.)

once, twice — you take my hand in yours,  like a doting soul, passionate and unhinged.  and in the wake of your palm,  the gentle crease of your brow as you struggled to master  some esoteric concept  with youthful passion and kindness  — there I found,  hope and tender affection:  a feeling so foreign, sublime — 

snuffed out like a candle wick.

wickedness trumps.  (hear this over the celebratory bugles, won’t you?  there is no triumph to be had at war:  morality burns in the pyre and fades into  dust, scattered by the desert winds  that curse our names with titular ranks; gold emblazoned across military blues.)

through the crossfires, the blazing columns there you are:  mortal, alive, forever guilty

yet still,  some strange arbiter  condemns me as such:  a sinner, murderer, sniper, 

and a child beneath a red, sullied summer.