Cape Helles, named as

Cape Hell

in the summer morn,

Seems calmer,

Not for the body.

 

Or lack of, rather,

With the

Splintering wood cross

and the

Withering petals.

Lovely

are the old Lilies,

White as the virgin’s

Wedding Dress.

 

i looked to the cliff

and the

Calm lapping of waves,

i heard

The whistle of bombs

and the

Seagulls crying like

Wounded Men.

 

The crisp, cold salt in

The air

Burned my gas stained nose.

Sickly

Sweet death of flowers

i kissed

The bitter wood cross.

 

i am the wild dog,

Helpless;

Cornered animal.

Desperate;

a bird with clipped wings.

Depressed;

Childless mommy.

 

i leak a wet tear,

as cold

and hard as the gun

i grasp:

My Lifeline.

 

The bent wooden cross

Splinters

onto my scrubbed rifle.

i don’t

attempt to clean his

Final Mark.

 

The sea is too calm

in this

early summer morn’.

The cross

is blinded from the

Jungle

That I have survived.

He is lost.

 

Yet the sky

and the sea

Do not weep

For the fallen.

 

we are alone.