(another variation)

The gaze is fixed and empty now.
A friendly range where kills avow
to keep an eye on you, a rival.
A finger triggers my survival
and claps a sound of body bow.

When metal burns the pain is dull.
A death can’t meet a gasp to lull
for stripped off souls are skies in stillness.
A needleful of wind and chillness
pokes deeply through a pallid hull.

Inside the skull a humming wilts
along with shivers, doubts, and guilt.
I am abstained, a secret ballot
for crushing words against a palate
and choosing type of blood to spill.

The sun dries out, becomes a shade
for nothing settled, nothing staid
in this parade of blasts and shelling,
in these honed badly grows of dwelling
for notches on a priceless blade.

I warm the Heart of Motherland
by shortening the beat and strand
of mine, so minds could bloom in madness
on flowered uniforms by redness.
Eyes muddle up red cells and sand.

The end of hell is in a fist.
I squeezed it hard and reminisced
about my life without this quiver
till vessels stopped to pump upriver
the strength. It shall be greatly missed.

I’ve stopped believe in wingless breath
since grinding teeth and eating grass.
These calls for hugs and yearns for mothers
could make an enemy my brother
or cease the lease of lungs at last.

I’m still alive. I couldn’t die,
just stepped inside your heart to pry…
Your silence is the best cantata.
Remember me, the sky stigmata
will dry and cry resembling sighs.

The skies are openers
for eyes…

15 November 2010