A commentary...

His eyes shed many waters choked with dust.

Black clouds and blacker wails pockmark the sky.

Thick crimson rivers foster wanderlust.

Each ragged breath purloined for heaven's eye.

He kneels nigh riven flesh that once was fair.

Dry winds slash deeper furrows in her cheek.

A soft caress of ashen, blood-drenched hair.

His feral cry "how blessed are the meek."

His soul lay rent in twain and reft of life.

Oblivious to war and war's alarms.

Forsaken. Only whising "O that I,

were young again...and held her in my arms."

The winds scream on, the kites of hell at play.

And Death sails on. Two lives are swept away.