Tilted

.
Then it became obvious that the obvious wasn’t so

motion sensors compensated for the walking wounded
and on the front line where time was allowed elevation
and the stations of the cross where observed by forward gunners,
the post man strolled through first class carnage to deliver field green bandages.

dreams occasionally obstruct my breathing and believing the dreams to be real
I steal back into wakefulness,
but always return to the battleground back to the sounds of thunder.

I know that if I go
under for the third time
there’ll be no
elevation to sight a line on me
no stations of the cross
there’ll be nothing left of me
no cannon to the right of me,

I wonder if I’ll be free then
without oxygen
to inflate my ego.

It may be that it will be
so.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.