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