A field of War.

A field of War.

We tumbled in the grass,

Green stains marked the act.

Tender leaves crushed

Beneath our bodies,

Entwined as they were,

In the midst of knowing,

For the first time.

We lay together,

Gathering ourselves,

Cloud watching.

The world, nothing more

Than a bubble.

Silent, but for the drone

Of honey bees,

And the distant call

Of a cuckoo,

Seeking to fly the nest.

We rolled in the hay,

Scratched by dry stalks.

Bloodless battle scars,

From a passionate embrace,

Hot with sweat

And the knowing

Of each other.

The air, moist and humid,

Hung with the smell of

Farmyards,

And birthing time.

The sun, filtered,

Through a broken roof,

Bisecting dusty air,

Chaff floating like blossom.

We frolicked in mud,

Like children,

Without a care.

Danced in hot springs,

Soaked our pains away.

Sealed in memory,

Yours and mine,

His and hers.

All things we did,

On grass like this.

In fields and barns,

On river’s edge,

In flower beds,

On muddy banks

Where now we lie,

In silence.

The fight long done.

For the living

The day was won,

And young bodies,

Broken in war,

But not in spirit,

Lie in sad repose,

A barbarous reminder,

Of love

And innocence lost.

In the midst of beauty,

The pall of death.

A lover’s kiss,

A boy’s last breath.