Upon The Arid Lakes

Someplace A field of flowers Rousing under remnants of the dawn: Out there! from death, I rose Above the silent many – A distant will-o'-the-wisp Reflecting under airs of minor ninths – How rich the ambience they threw! What theme of prosody Had rendered me? – Tho’ silent were its words: A broken soul in pulsing pain – Thou mustn’t guess what goes behind The sick and ghostly screen of war! In sallow-grey and other ashen hues, Disrobed of warming flesh That reassures the bones, A twisted pose Portrayed my physicality – Not unlike the carcass of a prey; But as a cloud of thought, I mused, Exacerbating woes Collected in a life dispatched In freely flowing blood, Conferring crimson shades Upon the arid lakes aflood With glorious tides of nascent buds Begetting innocence. And as we glowed in ruddy shades, I asked: ‘What future lies ahead? What terror trades? ’ Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011 war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war war