Fort (Mark II)

No more orders, directives have ceased.
They’ve fallen from rotation.
Senses have dulled, thoughts numbed.
The soldiers match the forts dereliction.

The enemy have never showed.
The steppe remains empty.
Lone caravans become regiments, roaming animals become mythical beasts.
Such are the deluded grasps for sparks of life.

On some nights wisps dance
over the steppe weaving lines
of yellow and red, blue and green.
The soldiers argue hallucination versus the real.

One night a single soldier
leaves and the fort to descend to
the steppe, seeking sublimity
or something less.



Image found here:

This is something I initially drafted for NaPoWriMo ( but wasn’t happy with. Shank no more.

Actually, you can trace this idea back from when I first started blogging:

And a love of Dino Buzzati’s book, The Tartar Steppe.


About skyraftwanderer

A person who enjoys writing short story things, poetry and other random things that come into my head.
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