Wrapped thorny branches circle
the bodies of prisoners
who allegedly slit their wrists.

Roots weave black crosses
into depths of the ground.
Mirrors shattered by haunted memories
with lone reflection in crystal lakes.

Soldiers imprint into textured dirt,
across every blade of torn grasses,
gospel song used promised oath
not to be sung any more.

Inscriptions of ash rose earth
spell out the name
by rearrangement of spiraling letters,
sinful pathways intertwined together.

Drifted voices scream
from extents of the earth’s core,
shuttering from piercing pains
on variations of illusory rhyme.

Only two droplets of blood
withdraw from veracious death.
At each new moment, predecessors kill
spirits inherently laid within time’s walls.

Soldiers cross mirages
along this city on a hill,
disappearing from the crowd
in the midst of muddled captives.

Stung to the heart, moments pass,
to force ourselves to never turn back,
marching forward, fearless.
But seconds in battle last a lifetime.

Broken glass remains on outskirts of town.
We are the light of the world,
called upon to spread news of simple truths.
Lost, waiting to be torn apart by war.

Bio: Samantha Seto is a writer. She has been published in various anthologies including Ceremony, Soul Fountain, Carcinogenic Poetry, and Black Magnolias Journal. She is a third prize poetry winner of the Whispering Prairie Press contest.

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