by Ed Poynter | Mar 21, 2012 | Poetry
It’s strange seeing you like this. I know you’re not actually here. Even that last time I saw you, held you, carried you… You were not actually there. The time before that, you waved. You grinned as you shouldered your pack. “Good luck mate.” I called. “Go...
by Ed Poynter | Mar 21, 2012 | Poetry
Death comes again in a gut-wrenching roll of thunder that rages and echoes through valleys and cracked mud compounds and turns men inside-out. Walls shake and vibrate as dust-clouds rise and mud bricks and dust fall from ceiling to floor. Dust meets dust, “for out of...
