The Line

June 18, 2012 § Leave a comment

They line up straight

waiting to be fired

a beautiful line

figuratively dead

as it is physically alive;

 

They breath slow

and not in excess

as they feel it is waste

to feed ones already dead.

 

The pits are dug

with no funeral

they are dropped dead

in the long infinity of black.

 

Their ceremony is the line

formed by statues

with no features contrasted

with no guilty surpassed.

 

Alas,

A moment of silent echoes every direction

the line is silent…

 

One of them smiles

he says to himself:

Over time, I’ve drugged my life

the weight I’ve put in my shoulders

should be long dispatched at last.

 

I’ll be long gone

But I’ll be fulfilled

As I make sure

I’ll harm no more.

 

Please grave me in dirt

with a light stone over my head

write that I meant no harm

write I had been born for that.

 

I do not know where I am headed

or even if I am headed somewhere

It will be like life

As you ever said

I will take care.

 

For what else his mind thougth

I am afraid I cannot put in words.

 

His way to come

the smell of powder

he is long gone

buried with the stone.

 

For every single soul

there is determined cleanse

there is unconditional weightlessly

there is true freedom

even if for a single second.

 

For the man I describe

his cleanse he had found

or he thought he had

and no smile is useful as a mask

when you finally regret time;

But he is one of much in the line.

(xx/xx/2010) – Key

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