Tags

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No one died. Soft edges became coherent

of a hardening

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after near slaughter,

a siege at the front line.

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Fresh tissue with low rank stood against the enemy

charging with time sharpened blades

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slicing through linear remembrances

traceable atop of non-porous days.

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It was the color after all

that forced a reckoning.

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It’s the brownish-red stains

revealing Love is for madmen

without a full conscience

in the aftermath.

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© 2017 Tammy Mezera

(Book- Unison and Adaptations)

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