Danse The silence here bears gunfire's breath Hot upon night's moonlit cheek While ant-like 'cross my thoughts of death Quiet words of sentries creep To tread upon the sense my own Words might make if voice they'd find. Now, damp with sweat peace here has sown, With death leaving sound behind, I watch a golden cross of fire Plummet earthward silently To fuel the other kindled pyres Lit by battle's "danse sans joie". While northward tracers scar the skies, Purge the dark that calmed the scene, I am compelled to turn my eyes Inward on what grows obscene. With fear the sole emotion left (Mourning, pity torn aside), My heart benumbed to bleeding cleft, Death smells blend, declassified. The rotting mules upon the road, Gangrene's violent stench in men, The flowered graves of dead implode With the smell of pain within. As cricket chirring now appears (Sound that no fresh graves concede), May someone's sorrow, passion tears Fall to cover those who bleed. (C) 11-17-95 Charles SielertBirth sign: Not entered
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