Poem
Angel of War
The ground is painted in red. The sky in grey and black. He falls in love with her in the midst of ringing shots and bursts of orange gunfire. She has rose petals stitched at the edges of her white dress gown as she stands there in the middle of the hospital tent. She is an angel of war. “Do you come here often?” is what spills out of his mouth. She grins wryly at him, patting down the last of his bandages tight around his leg. Crimson blooms prettily on the bandage once her hand leaves. “I’m afraid so, soldier”. His leg heals and he gets dispatched to another squadron but the imprint of her hand runs rampant in his mind. He never even caught her name. He meets another battlefield, another open graveyard. This time he is the one lugging bodies towards the hospital tent and his breathe catches on the gunpowder when he sees her visage by the tent flap. It doesn’t last as red streaks through the air. There is nothing left and there is everything lost. A spotted dove sings lullabies towards the sky.
The ground is painted in red. The sky in grey and black. He falls in love with her in the midst of ringing shots and bursts of orange gunfire. She has rose petals stitched at the edges of her white dress gown as she stands there in the middle of the hospital tent. She is an angel of war. “Do you come here often?” is what spills out of his mouth. She grins wryly at him, patting down the last of his bandages tight around his leg. Crimson blooms prettily on the bandage once her hand leaves. “I’m afraid so, soldier”. His leg heals and he gets dispatched to another squadron but the imprint of her hand runs rampant in his mind. He never even caught her name. He meets another battlefield, another open graveyard. This time he is the one lugging bodies towards the hospital tent and his breathe catches on the gunpowder when he sees her visage by the tent flap. It doesn’t last as red streaks through the air. There is nothing left and there is everything lost. A spotted dove sings lullabies towards the sky.