The courtyard 7E81341DFA8767C7355C7125D163E3EE

The courtyard is alive with the spit of angry bullets,
And baked hard by the scorching sun.

Clouds of smoke drift in,
In patches,

And are,
Collected by moans,

That become tiny whirlwinds,
That suck on the dog tags on dead men’s chests.

See – Why we fight, Soldier
♦photo – 67pics.com♦

7E81341DFA8767C7355C7125D163E3EE

evocative short poetry – words move