Secret Ingredients
Murder
horror on parade
the fires of war march on while
death wields the baton
–
a murder of crows-
five men lower
their rifles
Hushed
the sounds of fresh snow
falling in the near darkness
sibilant whispers
–
snowfall-
lost in quiet
conversation
Death
dark shadows riding
the fine line between the here
and the hereafter
–
cold and silent-
along his path
withered grass
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