Solitary-Poet

Steps taken in torn boots, Battle weary,

Temporary imprints in wet sand,

Incessant rolling waves,

Carry the morning sun,

Touch the imprints,

Wash them away,

Recede to catch the sun,

Wish they would stop,

Wish all could be frozen,

Clocks could be dead and not tick.

Pride – proud in its aloneness,

Mixes badly with cold ‘fear’ sweat,

Stings the eyelids, soils rags,

Black as the grim reaper’s mask,

Covering my face,

Stuffed in my mouth,

No pain can be heard here,

Eyes, ears, hearts, minds,

Doors shut long ago,

No humans live here.

Orange and black procession,

Shuffles in singular steps,

Dying and living in common purpose,

Executioner and executed united,

Making footsteps imprints,

Held in a moment’s appeal,

For man to hold, but

For nature’s being,

The sea to wash away to the sea.

Ridge at the edge,

The beach – neither felt nor seen,

One stumble away from the sea.

Hear a child’s feet,

Little splashes in the morning sea,

Mother’s call to care and safety,

Watch the child play, not stray.

Cannot be – but imagination,

Child and mother must be memories,

From fortunate pleasant pasts,

Or macabre current spectacles.

Steps have stopped now,

United procession breaks into two,

Roles now clear,

‘Black’ Blood takers and ‘Orange’ dressed givers

Well defined by uniform’s color.

Single step to the sea,

Cold mettle muzzle, silent click,

Safety withdrawn, man’s intent clear,

Not defined by religion, humanity, good,

Clouded by madness, evil,

All defined in a silent click.

Single shot – pain reaches me,

Even before the sound,

Feet crumble into sand,

Blood now united with sweat,

Last upheaval to hold it’s own

Life seeps out with each drop,

Seaside execution is now complete.

Waves still roll in, no power,

Try to wash imprints, Lose – recede,

Incapable to comprehend human’s humanity.