By Dave Bedworth
My life without you now,
glides dimly by in dankly selfish lumps.
No C-rats shared in sickly hooches,
with screaming bugs and distant crackle.
No insane bits of frantic life,
following the call of “incoming”.
No bitter vomit whooshing out,
crowning a firefight “afterglow”.
Instead, this constant ache,
an awful ague of heart and soul.
Always flashes of kingly days,
when our spirits together,
flayed on earth the enemy mine.
But I did not win,
for you are there,
within a frozen time of heavenly grace,
and I am not . . . .
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