Running

The old house stood for many years, maybe hundreds.

It groaned in the night from all its nightmares.

Grandmothers grandfathers stood watch for intruders,

through steaming summers and hard winters.

They watched through vacant windows

blown out during Civil War and vandals, mostly vandals.

A young girl once slept up steep stairs. With one ear

against horsehair plaster I could hear her singing.

She sang my song, the one which begged me to stay.

War pushed me away, far away across the ocean.

Running from the enemy through jungles, sweating

Asian heat and spinning bullets, Yes I ran realizing

sadly I ran from her, she never knew I loved her so.

I run today away from a somber Reaper

and spinning bullets.