The snatching of breath from deep cut lips,
weathered by the winds of time.
From lips as blushing rose- a bud newly broken
before, even, fully unfurled.

The sinking of a gleaming sword: hilt and back,
piercing skin and spewing crimson.
Of a sphere of metal like an abacus bead,
1, 3, 25, the body obliterated-
the inescapable barrage of machine gun fire.

The trembling of a hand, grasping air,
on the lip of a skyscraper, driven to the unthinkable.
Of a head, teeth chattering from ice and nerves,
on the lip of a trench knowing what awaits.

Then there's just the darkness;
The sinking into oblivion, the seeping of colour,
the snatching of suffering and sadness and
Joy.
The finality of the ending, of the never coming back,
Of the never laughing, never crying-
Just the dying.

By @tsapresent