A soft feather
Laying on my back a bullet in my breast
blood flying from then wound dying the earth a darker red
a sound I pick out from this dim of death
the sound of a bird flying over head
how I envy that bird with wings
it can fly away from this battle field of sins
never having to fight for king and country
but free to fly on never stopping
a feather falls down into my hand
its soft feathery texture feels so strange
its getting darker now I can't hear
now I too am escaping like a bird with feathers.
by Demelza brown















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