He lay in a ditch, alone; the nameless man; staring upwards at the sky as though searching for something lost. A bird, or perhaps the shape of a cloud that bore the likeness of home. Or a place so distant as beyond reach. An echo lost along the airy way.
By the close of day, the soul was gone, Leaving behind a body riddled with bullets. Shrapnel. A still smile on cold lips. And the sun setting in the blood as it sets in the sky each night. An insect playing on the skin.
Drawn to the aroma and the fascination of death: taking life from it. And the celestial mirage of his homeland Breaking apart in the sky like a slum borne into the tendrils of an airstrike. And all things vanished now. All things quite silent.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
