Wife of the Unknown Soldier
She sits there every morning and I watch her, the wife of an unknown soldier.
She always sits there. A drop of dew on a bent leaf. Sweet as rain, infused with morning. A rare word on the tip of your tongue that slides ever so slowly back into the throat. Returned to the source of all sound. Waves crash around where she sits. Rumbling. Siren calls from murky depths. Luring me towards jagged rocks. Liscentious cliffs clawing at virginal flesh. A forceful tide pushing and pulling; pounding a breathing corpse. Slashing, tearing, healing with salty pearls.
Her tears always shine. Diamonds lodged in gentle seas. Fountains of glitter. Salty reminders of loss. Water poisoned with the blood of the past. Red paint splattered on a pastoral scene. Her hands are dipped in iron life. Dripping drop by drop. Her secret gemstone shower. A ruby downpour. Seductive.
Cherry blossoms. Sugary desire that purses and glistens. Tantalizing bursts of flavor, moist. Crystallized sentiments dangling off rosebud lips. Words fall like petals, swaying enticingly in the breeze. Twirling in victorious escape, gliding in suicidal freedom, landing lifeless, odorless, sanctified. Crimson moths buried in smothering concrete. Voices hidden beneath the world. An earth that solidifies flowing rivers with a gust of steel. Twisted creators of hardened humanity locking all windows, permanently shutting curtains. Block the weakness. Freeze the pain.
She always sits there. A caricature of icy hardness. Cold as the biting winds that shriek through the pines; motionless as the marble angels that gaze poignantly at their gloomy scenery. She waits despairingly for the dawn to spread like fire across the snowy field. Scarlet plumes grazing the darkness, enfolding the stars in timeless embrace. The phoenix rises in flaming glory from the ebony ashes of past lives, to burn bright. Its lilting melody soothes the pervasive brokenness. A moment of failing and crumbled shields.
I watch her melt.
Her tears always shine. Diamonds lodged in gentle seas. Fountains of glitter. Salty reminders of loss. Water poisoned with the blood of the past. Red paint splattered on a pastoral scene. Her hands are dipped in iron life. Dripping drop by drop. Her secret gemstone shower. A ruby downpour. Seductive.
Cherry blossoms. Sugary desire that purses and glistens. Tantalizing bursts of flavor, moist. Crystallized sentiments dangling off rosebud lips. Words fall like petals, swaying enticingly in the breeze. Twirling in victorious escape, gliding in suicidal freedom, landing lifeless, odorless, sanctified. Crimson moths buried in smothering concrete. Voices hidden beneath the world. An earth that solidifies flowing rivers with a gust of steel. Twisted creators of hardened humanity locking all windows, permanently shutting curtains. Block the weakness. Freeze the pain.
She always sits there. A caricature of icy hardness. Cold as the biting winds that shriek through the pines; motionless as the marble angels that gaze poignantly at their gloomy scenery. She waits despairingly for the dawn to spread like fire across the snowy field. Scarlet plumes grazing the darkness, enfolding the stars in timeless embrace. The phoenix rises in flaming glory from the ebony ashes of past lives, to burn bright. Its lilting melody soothes the pervasive brokenness. A moment of failing and crumbled shields.
I watch her melt.
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