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The Battlefield: By Tia Metcher

Trampling horses, Swift escapade,
Through marsh lands And desert terrains,
Shrapnel pierce, The temple door,
Piece by piece, The chess piece fall,
Magma effuse, From my veins, release,
As my mortal body begins, To cease,
I endure, The seismic quake,
My trembling temple, Begins to shake,
Wrapped in dull bleak, Shades of grey,
My mind drifts back, To yesterday,
Briskly backstroke, Back in time,
Separate the salinity, From the brine,
Still framed pictures, Black and white,
Mosaic images, Fulfills my mind,
Serine, tranquil water of , Clear crystal glaze,
Rise inside, The temple gates,
Illuminating sun, appears bright in fall,
As my mind escapes, Cold, Brutal War,
Charcoal, ash felt, Imprisoned tomb,
Air infused of , Musty perfume,
Trumpeting, trumpets, Play their melody,
In spite of all The hostility,
No matter the weather, The season, the cost,
There’s always the silky, Satin red cloth!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

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