Silent youth with wide-eyed stares

on empty trains to nowhere.

The blood runs cold from mountain peaks

to wash the line with corporeal fury...


And the dead lie on the tracks.


Mute children breathe a rusted kiss

which whispers thought the poppy groves.

The petals fall on snow white banks

to choke the hills in crimson lust…


The dove lays speared on twisted limb

Soft feathers stained with daisy gore...


And the dead lie broken upon the tracks.