He remembers that time before the war,
The fragrant kisses of a sweet perfume,
Welcoming him inside her open door,
As he embraced the beauty in that room,
And found his heartbeat as the music played,
The swirling scarves of love and ecstasy.
For as long as she would have him, he stayed.
Looking back to that time in history,
This dream whispered to him before the tears,
Before his soldiers crumbled in the sand,
Before the weight of those few desperate years,
The times he took the dying by the hand,
Their last wishes, hope rising from their blood,
Before they drifted in that gentle lake.
Death was their refuge. Then, in this same flood,
He gasps for air, after his eardrums break,
When every cry he hears is like a shot,
Agony followed by more agony,
Thrown into one common burial plot,
With only thunder as his elegy.
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