Dream In Prime Numbers #351

A body at rest tends to stay so
One in motion goes until it runs out of energy
It runs into another object
Or it dies
The sun sat on the horizon as if it couldn’t take
It’s eye off of the site below it
Burning and tinting just
The edges of the high wisps of clouds
Melting away the layer of smoke and sweat
The field was littered with men,
Dead, dying, or wounded
There were no victors, no parades, no songs of conquest
I heard the sound of moans from the dying
And the cries of those they left behind
I held your sagging and baggy, craggy face in my hands
And could not wipe away the sardonic silent sadness
From your eyes
What was passing as my friend
Was hanging with the sun, holding onto that last
Instant of light before the dusk
But there was a small smile on his lips
Welling up from somewhere from your broken body
Whispering the joy that you once were
Could there be laughter again?
Having played the fool so long to the brave
It’s hard to have a joke puff out of my mouth
However, I know that you would want to hear
One last silly collection of words
Making fun of meaning and language