A lone, weary soldier on patrol
Hears distant gunfire.
Nothing new, no eminent danger.
Still alert, he scans the horizon.
A butterfly circles his head,
Lands on his rifle.
He watches it flex its wings.
He weeps not for its beauty
Or delicacy where violence is commonplace.
He weeps not for company in his isolation
Or a reminder of simpler times.
Adversely, he weeps for those lost souls
Who will never again witness any life
Because of this place where life is taken.
The butterfly moves on.
As does the weary soldier.
About the Creator
Julie Lacksonen
I'm a soon-to-be retired music educator - 39 years at the same school. One more! I enjoy writing, reading, walking, swimming, and spending time with family.
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