That one instance, played for countless days,
Of me, in my soldier uniform, falling
Sideways, to autumn leaves resting
With the bones and bloodstains of war;
That one instance, played for countless weeks,
Of me, with rifle at hand, clutching
Teary-eyed, like stars cursed to burn eternally
Until I disappear, nameless in oblivion;
That one instance, played for countless months
Of me, with pen at hand, scribbling
Restless, writing to a god sleeping
Before daylights, for the sin of dreaming;
That one instance, played for countless years
Of me, opening my eyes, dying
Craving, looking at corpses for meaning
Until I close them, hoping for revival.
