the mustard trousered soldiers
in crisp white shirts lie dead.
their heads decapitated
burnt to gray ash.
in the blue glass tomb
they lie still as silence.
and the question i ask
from lungs bellowing smoke
are these macabre omens?
places and faces
so much is different
across empty space and time.
places sans faces.
summer dreams
autumnal fingers
are bony and cold to touch.
summer’s embrace ends.
olympic dreams
the flame extinguished.
brave hearts packed up in boxes.
new beginning starts.
nature’s nature
the soft blanket green.
a stage of whimsical dreams.
nurturing nature.
soaring heights
a sigh and a cry
can give the soul wings to fly.
a bumpy takeoff.