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Kill Me On Friday, Bury Me On Sunday

by Conlan Nielsen 3 months ago in sad poetry
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By Conlan Nielsen

All he remembers is the friend, the field, the fire

Seeing sunsets or hearing gun-fire filled his heart with rage and ire

In that war's final days, the final sunsets purple hue

The Sarge’ gave a war´s award when his best friend's death was due

¨I recall the day¨ he somberly says ¨his final moments in the fray¨

¨The napalm strike that took his life and turned my heart to gray¨

Clouded of mind the veteran was, his own life he chose to take

“Not a chance” he thought, “in hell ill bear this dread I hate”

The crack of a revolver, be his last goodbye

Leaving a dreaded deafening silence in the sky

And finality of shape, it did take…

Then he woke in the moment, in that fiery field, and a reckoning stood in his wake

His heart froze, droppin’ to his knees, sense of self came to halt

¨Don't cry my dear old friend, my death was not your fault¨

Lifeless and charred his body was, his friend floated through the ashes

The veteran slammed the ground with repeated and rage filled bashes

His eyes began to well and tear

His heart did fill with dread

When he looked up again

His friend was gone, and the purple sunset took it´s grace

He looked down before his hands

A purple medal did lay there

And on the medal, his friends face it did bear

Fate laid them killed on Friday

Buried on Sunday

sad poetry

About the author

Conlan Nielsen

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