Nakama Poem by Julia Boon

Broken glass, the bones of the dead;
The stag without its head,
The crows upon the fountain peck.
Ice-pick through his neck.
A figure from your past,
Strung up here at last.
Snails taste of what they eat,
Well prepared, human meat.
So by the light these fireflies glow,
I want you to look upon and know,
For you my friend,
This gift is meant to mend,
I no longer wish to pretend.
I'm like you now,
Nakama, are you proud?