"sonnet59"
the pen was dipped in ink of tear
to spill in words a life in year,
a doom of black a beast there was
unsettled with his green brown cause.
the girl did watch as he uncoiled
the chess game now destined to foil
as if behind a pane of glass
consumed he was with all contrast.
his mind now in a box of wrath
no light, no hope, a ghost-ed passed
though boot touched down on homeland dirt
he said that year when war he flirt:
that men need die on battled shore
not come back dead to fight life's war.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
15may12
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