wintershold


The siege is broken, and the enemy retreats.
The land is marked where they stood,
dark stains upon the asphalt
thick with the smell of wet and rot.
They fall in upon themselves
stained black and grey and brown
no longer the pristine white
of fresh troops.
They pull back,
revealing the cruel deeds that had been hidden
beneath their cloaks;
death in waterlogged cigarette butts
and crushed aluminium.
The siege is broken, and the enemy retreats,
but I still have to wear my coat.

© chris DINGLEY 2014

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