Guardhouse

The cold forced air stirs up

The hairs on my arms

Sympathetic soldiers

Compelling me to move

My entire being certain

That staying in this place

Will bring a frozen death.

 

 

  My breath and posture

  Para military sentries, alert

  Unmoving in their guarding

  Show me what trust must be

  Compelling me in their stillness

  To remain silent and watchful

  I am duty bound to regard them.

~ by April on May 22, 2012.

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