Death, Freehand Writing, Imagine, Life, Love, Poetry, Prose

He would be back

broken frame,
glass on the floor,
a letter unopened,
tears echoed,
for someone,
who said he would be back,
to read the night stories,
to play the games,
to take all camp side,
one sunny day,
But that day he became,
part of earth,
with clouds of tears,
thunders of disgust,
they all ask how it happened,
she now says proudly,
killed in action.

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