The wars that you have faced never faced you like this never twisted you, never splintered your ego and now the remains of battles lost pockmark your soul. I am a veteran of the valiant loss I am a warrior of the trying times I will remain now that you've gone I will breathe in the morning and I will sigh at night but the breaths will keep coming You are a deserter, a broken war-toy, laying in a grave that you have chosen with care as a post-mortem gesture at life and in my direction Maybe you found poetry in crimson stained white baptised for passing in a porcelain vessel a prayer of absolution for the water to forgive the sin of the heart that kept you from living but the judgment will carry you into the night self-imposed, internal, eternal the stinging lesson of objectively viewing a private past The sorrow I wear borrows no culpability of your horror Melancholy winds dance with the banners of loss applauding your departure in somber cadence For you, the field of forever lay in the trenches but the real forever lives through and after the war you have sounded retreat, but there is no one to run in your false honor you have fallen on your sword good bye and go tender on your heart for depriving the spirit of the skin it once shared defeated in attrition on passion-poisoned wastelands.
