Silver bugle
A tanka series
Snow falls between notes
of a lone bugle calling —
muted by cloud chords.
A murder of missiles flies
past crooning crows on dead wood.
A whale wonders why
steel warships fall from the sky —
oceans reclaim man.
On the shores, souls drink death dreams,
drowning the screams of conscience.
An eye for an eye
written on a silver bomb —
finds children playing.
Serialized and signed bombs.
Just a consequence of war.
Skeleton bugler,
blows against the cold bonesky —
never leaves his post.
Somber sounds from silver horns —
hanging, swinging, in the air.
Love the opening image. Inspiring work Josh!
The Angel of Death roaming earth. This is a forceful rendition, Josh.