They stalk through dew-kissed grass
Looking for lost causes
Midst the muted cannon's roar
Their charred limbs clutch the reeds
Unable to break them again,
For the fields have begun
to bear fruit once more.
While the angry spirits attempt their destruction in haste
The physical world shouts to them,
"Go back to your graves."
The earth is eager to swallow their momentary bodies
and to the refreshed soil
they all taste the same.
the following was written for Jingle's Poetry Potluck.