.

..As you recount the image

of a thousand cinematic battles

and deep in water trench wait,

behind you

high above unknown gardens

rockets explode in the bold still sky,

the whizz bangs, whoops promoted

through the ranks

as other former angels die

with a bang, and dirty faces

from the powder that took their lives,

no time to scream, yell

out a warning, just a whispered

time’s up blink as they say good

bye to their mother, and all the while

behind first floor glass

and a hundred years stare,

you weave words only learned

in school from the freedom’s won…

silhouetted and framed

by those November fireworks

that light up the sky

in Time’s wake…

 

Ian D. Hall 2018