Credit: pbs.org
Left behind the border lines of fears and fate
To die and rot, a state of triage
To the gray skies we look, asking God why?
The forgotten like a dusty book on a shelf
A broken spirit, darkness, darker than a quarter past twelve
With pity the moon gave us light
Paper stained with blood and sand
Between the lines my letter I write
Zoejane, your face I will never see again
Shattered promises, lost in the shadows without a trace
No words, just pains, tears and worries
I gnash, I lived to see my soldiers, and I watch their final breathe
Nobody will live on to tell the stories
Zoejane your name I call
Love is far from here
On Wounded Knee I crawl
Look no further, beyond horizons for my welcome
Each word I write slowly I die.
The love we had and shared in the past
Apologize to my unborn child
I wish it wasn’t the last
My tears on the floor
These are my words my letter from WAR
