Anthracite

Stumbling through a grain filled field
your entrails fill your hands
and you don’t know how to go on
but you do

There lies a house near familiar trees
that beckons to your burdens
maybe a safe place you want to believe
your face displays need

A door is opened with sad fatalism
you are not an expected privilege
gratefulness hindered by your burden
and then you know

Your uniform is but a shell of you
ugliness of the war on you like paint
and although you hold your heart out
it is not seen

The shallowness of the world crashes upon you
fighting it as it can’t be believed as true
the shadow in the door looks past you to other ghosts
a forgotten distraction

The stone you occupy is your own for now
as the breeze of historical ignorance passes
you do not possess the the sail that others can ride
such your soul becalmed.

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