a dark sweaty form
staring into the desert sun
from behind an oasis blind
stars and stripes
on his shoulder
symbol of freedom
waiting
fearing
killing
burst of light
penetrating metal
third of an ounces
less than 2.3 seconds
and
another symbol of freedom
is stared at
by the desert
in life’s
only
true
freedom
Read Between the Minds 
That illustration is almost trippy. Kinda hard to look at too long. hehehe.
For some reason this poem prompts me to consider the horrors of PTSD. The facial expression on the image makes me think of “shell shock.” Anyway, you’re posting some great stuff. Thanks
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very nice, excellent imagery. is death itself life’s only true freedom, or am i perhaps misinterpreting this?
That would depend upon your definition of “freedom.”
Wow, totally intense! I have been reading Soviet poets circa WWII and this so echoes!