The lonely soldier had no one. Not a soul. He would wait day by day for his daughter to find him. His wife. Maybe one day his son would grow old enough to search for him, too. But, years passed. No one came. And yet he never gave up hope that one day his daughter would find him.
Cadence
Soldier, keep on treading on, you can get used to anything, even tragedy, dead is dead, and that’s what happens, you can sleep next to bombs and screaming, tomorrow is hazy, a maybe sort of thing like riding into the sunset at happily ever after, it is only today, only now that matters, there is no time for funerals, no time to mourn, only load your gun so you’re not next, you can get used to anything, you think, except it’s waiting for you in the cobwebs of the storage unit with your soccer net and your dalmatian sheets from when you were a boy carrying sticks and your “dead” brother rose from the lawn, grass still in his hair, when your mother called you in for mac and cheese
The animals moved like an army, with each animal following the previous one, like soldier going on an assault. They followed the one path cut through the grasslands, the grass towering above their heads. Then they came to the valley of the sweet grass, they fanned out and grazed.
Chanpheng
Could you hold my shoulder? I feel much colder than before. A soldier’s mind resembles my heart. Worlds apart.
My last body was a soldier. That’s a line from Pocket by Marg Liotta, I believe. What could it mean?
I haven’t got anything to add. Bolder, sold her, soul, juror, boulder, bull, deer. Sold your soul to your country. Your country tosses it on the pile of countless other souls.
The lonely soldier had no one. Not a soul. He would wait day by day for his daughter to find him. His wife. Maybe one day his son would grow old enough to search for him, too. But, years passed. No one came. And yet he never gave up hope that one day his daughter would find him.
Soldier, keep on treading on, you can get used to anything, even tragedy, dead is dead, and that’s what happens, you can sleep next to bombs and screaming, tomorrow is hazy, a maybe sort of thing like riding into the sunset at happily ever after, it is only today, only now that matters, there is no time for funerals, no time to mourn, only load your gun so you’re not next, you can get used to anything, you think, except it’s waiting for you in the cobwebs of the storage unit with your soccer net and your dalmatian sheets from when you were a boy carrying sticks and your “dead” brother rose from the lawn, grass still in his hair, when your mother called you in for mac and cheese
The animals moved like an army, with each animal following the previous one, like soldier going on an assault. They followed the one path cut through the grasslands, the grass towering above their heads. Then they came to the valley of the sweet grass, they fanned out and grazed.
Could you hold my shoulder? I feel much colder than before. A soldier’s mind resembles my heart. Worlds apart.
My last body was a soldier. That’s a line from Pocket by Marg Liotta, I believe. What could it mean?
I haven’t got anything to add. Bolder, sold her, soul, juror, boulder, bull, deer. Sold your soul to your country. Your country tosses it on the pile of countless other souls.