Like the placid moth
Wintering on the narrow frame
Dancing, shuffling sideways to
Escape this questioning finger
Through open window’s glow
Their drifting faces betray a
Cannot cloak the
Misery of downcast souls
Revealed in half-mast eyes.
World weary, cannot countenance
More of this same-turning, unyielding,
Labyrinthine, winding, puzzling,
Never-ending forward march with
Half-cocked heads drifting, falling.
Who provoked this war? Who formed
Platoons from their numbers,
Assigned stripes, designated lines and
Bound wings against rebellion
Thinking sunken lips would not rally
Shared stories, screamed endlessly
On mute, whispered eye-to-eye
In the huddle – we know – listening
For cloud’s brief deflection
When light will flutter in.