From the Front

Someone gets a bit of news.

Standing beneath a lamppost,

Darkness consumes the world,

Outside my tent of light,

White flakes dance their life away,

Drifting ever down in the sky,

Melting softly against my cheek,

Between the cracks of my smile,

A bitter, salty tang slides,

Knowing that this is no dream,

Finding silent absolution,

With my arms spread wide,

Amidst the pure white whirl,

Clutching your folded letter close,

I gather you in my arms once more,

You're coming home.

The End

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