The Killing Field


The children run and play amongst the broken bones.

Roses grow and butterflies fly above our fallen foes.

We cannot escape as much as we turn from the past.
Our feet shuffle and toes squish amongst the fallen ash.

Tears of those dead have watered that line of oaks.
They pull in each drop as the rag soaks.

And with each sun more souls are added still.
Into the killing field until the ground is fully filled.

-OM

44.1

Summerset

I saw a summerset upon a dream that was not met.

An object of possibilities, drenched in ideas I bleed.

I pondered upon a golden ticket, hoping some scheme would set.

But forged in fire I had let, a silver ticket is all I met.

It’s not a tragedy when my dear dreams meet misery.

It’s just how it was meant to be as sad songs from me seem to flee.

Back to the forge to dream, a new dream of possibility.

Or give up on being me and let the darkness in you see.

-OM

44.1

Nightingale

I sang upon a nightingale,

I saw my words as they fell.

They tumbled with emotion felt.

As words collided and began to melt.

Like snowflakes for a moment’s sake.

Butter melting on a hot plate.

A soothing in my inner soul.

A mockingbird once more.

-OM

44.1

Raindrop

I watched a raindrop go drip drop.

As it tumbled from my rooftop.

It struggled with all it’s cares.

Through the wind I watched it fare.

I tried to watch a single one.

To figure out what it had won.

But each drop met one another.

A struggle shared as it fell asunder.

-OM

44.1

She

She sits upon a ledge,

I watch her heart beat from afar.

A perfect sunset, sitting Star.

My moment for a moment’s edge.

I hear her sigh, why does she sigh.

As a mile seems to pass by.

A tear breaks the moonlight.

Passing through my heart’s light.

And with her sigh, and with her cry.

She becomes a sunset before my eye.

-OM

44.1