Riflemen pose, aiming toward twilight:
Eternity in their sites.
Weapons held at decorated chests:
Merciful, cruel embrace.
Bullets explode:
Precise shouts of seven resound as one,
Perforate the veil of senses,
Split our hearts – again - again.
Lone bugler kisses cold metal:
Trios of sweet, salty notes;
Sorrowful farewell lullaby
Sears our wound.
Shroud of honor - unmasked,
Lifted from its bier of heartache;
Thirteen folds - creased,
Contain a memory, a dream.
Distant lightning cuts deepened sky.
Silhouettes in mourning.
Rolling moan of grief
Thunders in our soul.
(c) 2012, Vicky M. Semones