In the carnage of that that is war,
she touched by icy fingers of impending Death,
he rasps her (unwelcome) welcome as
he sucks in her last dying breath.
He finds a peculiar warmth there,
a tincture of her fear,
a scintilla of her hope there
as she knows that Death is near.
Oh how she fights it, her
heart pounding in chest,
a clock ceasing in relentless time
as he lays her out to rest
Her vision is forever dimmed
by the blackness in her eyes.
She is enveloped by the darkness
as she knowingly slowly dies.
He has won then,
his duty almost done,
she is enveloped by the darkness
as he blocks out rising sun.
She returned to the earth then,
her life is but her death,
relinquishing all her hope then,
she bequeathing her last breath.
She searches for the bright light
as promised by her God
and much to her displeasure
finds there is naught but neath the sod…
Mish at dVerse has us writing of sensory play, that is, an abstract view of the senses. I really don’t know if my offering fits the bill as it is not pretty, but nevertheless is what came to mind (from where I do not know!). Maybe an abstract of an abstract..?
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons