the soldier.

Things have gotten colder in June.
cosmic consciousness washes upon my legs
I've felt emotions hurling over me as if tidal waves.
the various good and bad
come back to life in the spring
and summer should be here
but it has phoned us ,
informed us he wasn't coming home this year.
yr twenty-six year old son
will not be coming home this year.
he died on the battlefield with
his right hand over his heart.
and the photo of his lover in his left.
you read the news that's printed in plain ink
aloud to his mother and father.
the sorrow is read on their faces
the desperation is seen in their eyes.
You can't help but wonder
how they will ever go on?
the one to tell their tale
has left before his time has come.