No more orders, no more directives.
They’ve fallen from rotation.
No records have them, no inspections.
Years have crumpled to ash.

Every night, the troops thoughts, eyes
wander to the plain where under night-tide
where lines of red and yellow, blue and green
wisp in the gloaming.

All they’ve ever done is watch.
On one night one leaves the fort,
and as he disappears the others watch.
A chance for the sublime.


Image found here:

Day 9 of NaPoWriMo. Shanked it. But I like it enough to keep working at it.


About skyraftwanderer

A person who enjoys writing short story things, poetry and other random things that come into my head.
This entry was posted in Poems and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Fort

  1. Pingback: Fort (Mark II) | Golden Giraffes Riding Scarlet Flamingos Through The Desert of Forever

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s