Sixty Minutes of Deadly Fire

Sixty Minutes of Deadly Fire

John Evans

© 5/8/2020 3:10:24 PM

When one is enjoying life sixty-minutes takes no time to pass.

But when one trains for a jungle war

sixty-minutes ne’er will.

Visions of dying surface to the heart

pumping, faster and faster

till velocity feels

the tip of your nose.

Every third round, a

tracer.

Blasts from all angles

Till a spent cartridge finds its

derelict

target upon my neck.

Cervical spine,

Hit!

the pain is real,

the numbness I feel

throughout a paralyzed

frame, Jesus

Help

can’t move

until,

from somewhere, one ounce of

C-o-u-r-a-g-e

pushes onward

to climb the hill.

Blood draping down

neck and spine

crawling and moving

till evening I find

I think, no call was made

upon this figure’s rape

just an attempted slaughter

through a (somewhat), friendly fire.

Razer tip wire, where

spikes break the skin

and drops of red

may fill the page.

I’ve stated my piece, among

the pines and clay

and all received was

a few band-aids.

Ne’er again was all I could say

from warrior and teens

converted to peace, a

writer’s place is telling of, a certainty.

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