Like all the other girls, she’d waved him off
Kissed his head, and clutched his hands
“Come back safe!” she’d said.
She lay in her white nightgown, waiting for sleep’s mothering arms And whispered goodnight.

How dull it is without him,
A hollowing emptiness,
How lonesome the sun washed rooms.
How frightening it is without her,
As mad shells plunged and dove,
How deep the blood has soaked
Only the soft remains of her touch can keep him at bay.
He curled in his wet uniform, hoping for night’s silence
And whispered goodnight.

Spiralling down the vicious cycle
Between her and the dead man
He clings to what little is left of her
Her touch, her warmth, her breath, her – her –
He cannot remember
Thinking only of the man who withered before him,
Drowning in a pool of red and white.
He screeches into the night.

If only she could see him
Arms outstretched to the sky,
Deaf to the ringing booms and crashes.
As she covers her windows, hidden,
He gasps and chokes.
As she wanders the hushed house,
He cries out for her, begging to see her again
His woman, his love
As she whispers goodnight,
This is his last.

A flicker of yellow flutters to her hands.
Behind white, glassy eyes
She tears at the seams of the harrowing pain Throwing the rags of their flesh behind her Straining to rid of their presence
Elapsing

You
Who took away their youth and purity
Do you sit idly by yourself, proud?
Proud you are of your triumph,
Leaving us to sink in the dust.
The broken body of a child, left in tatters and shreds The broken spirit of a man, no longer his
The distorted daydream
He wanted
Now rots in the cages of his cracked ribs
Where vines cling snugly.

The last embers
Goodbye, my remaining yesterday.