The Soldier

Frost gnaws up from the ground;
The sun­rise he sees is ashen.
Antic­i­pa­tion flares to desire,
Dead winds tear through his hair.

Tum­bling cur­rents strike daylight;
The solar sneer illu­mi­nates his breath.
He has no need for helm or weapons;
The long march rust­ed them away.

The day­light is blinding;
It obscures his vision.

The sky is lined of azure crystal;
Its anx­i­ety fer­ves­cent and tangible,
The world inhales above him.

The day­light is blinding;
It blots out the future.

His silent chrysalis in release;
Invis­i­ble armour grows around him,
Crowned by two smoul­der­ing embers
Flick­er­ing, alive, in his eyes.

The thoughts rush ever faster,
The words all the closer.
No return.

The day­light is blinding;
He longs for the solace of night.

No one comes forth to retell this story;
He stands before his battlefield,
Too scared to close his eyes.

The day­light is blinding.
But he surges ahead.

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