Fields of wheat weave silent
Sitting rooted something thin

Wind threading in and out
Nothing stirs above but when

The war ends

Sits a lone gunslinger
Shell shocked pain reaver

Jacket yellow as the crops
Copper soil but the plots

Where bodies bled out
And brown uniforms turned

To mulch

Overworked by the ruin
Wrought by the struggle

Wheat whips in wind
Around the gun wielder

Had a deathwish that
Ended when he didn’t

Knew nothing but shooting
Now staring at irony

This was the last fight
He needed to fight

Watching the sun set
Over the meadows
Staring at cliché

Alone with the moment that
Came after guns stopped


After all
The guns
Stopped clapping

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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