DEAD MAN WALKING

’twas the voice
that struck like lightning—
A flash from orange days of command,
Surfacing through cacophony
of buried screams:
One, resonating, and some,
hovering in the background.
Echo: Breathed through the first born’s nostrils,
Stealing youthful existence,
And the old man’s shadow
rose and set on him.

© Gheeneil

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