PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Out on the rays of a misty morning sun, his hardened gaze vanished into the the horizon;
fading into the void of a dark new day, like the eagle finding freedom from horrors of death and the grasp of the hungry worm. On his brown, weathered face, the agony of many deaths
left their scars, as each deep line coursed through his skin like a trench carrying many sorrows to their grave. Whatever memories remained, remained locked somewhere inside his mind, somewhere safe from the savage death that took his world; that ripped it from his arms. Now in this strange new land, he would walk alone, as three fresh graves at his feet, would he leave behind; only a battered old shovel standing in the moist dirt, would stand watch over them. With a sack over his shoulder, and a shotgun in his arms, he disappeared into the unknown.