Sonnet 10 (200 Sonnet's Of The Soldier) Poem by Leom Kolmnela

10.

Like a heart ripped out from love and aching
suffer the flowers when dying away in spring.

A disturbing dream I have seen
with a magic broom flying.
As you both aware have been,
the youthful flowers it was mopping.

A Fall from above, on us, I saw falling,
with not enough flowers the world to fill.
The Sun into a lance I watched turning,
mercilessly piercing our bodies at will.

One by one with hands tied like captives,
as if never existed we would disappear;
briefly put in line, counted like worthless lives are a slave
shipped to a strange, far away frontier.

And crying was the poor moon a bit farther
awfully dressed by black clouds like a mother.