There’s darkness on the edge of noon;
All life eclipsed, as arms exalt the phoenix
Risen from the ashes of its own destruction.
He walks; a sordid beggar with opium
Covered eyes, towards a serene death.
Around the sky shroud falls, and beside him
Death’s ambush treads: it steps lightly,
With a slow tapestry of movement.
In his mind’s shadows the comrades watch: all dead,
A high-school photograph of standing corpses,
With only him to take his place.
Death moves closer...its open womb-like arms
Reach out to him- in this place only death has honesty-
He stops...waiting for the call to free him
From this other man’s Hell...
And it comes...clear as day.