Battlefields

In the wars of words, of the deeds of men...where the field was full of armor, a poet can always tell when his pen has hit the mark...for all in the meadow lay down, entire...nor muster of rejoinder. Ye poets, listen...listen well, for some malign...or whisper. Nay...only be, the sleep and wind; on years to come...they, whole defeat lay rusting in the grain.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: John Constable, Stonehenge