Crimson Fields [Sestina]

The men shot into the horizon,
And watched as their friends fell;
Their blood a painted river
Among the dusty battle fields.
And with in their left breast pocket,
Were smiles of the ones they loved.

They fought for who they loved,
They prayed to-wards the horizon;
A cross placed in their pocket,
Forbidden tears often fell.
With dreams of grassy fields
And beautiful majestic rivers.

The tears were their rivers;
They were surrounded by no love
Captured within the prison of fields.
Shot to-wards the horizon
And watched as the enemy fell.
Placed a bullet with in their pocket

The safety, of an invisible pocket;
Was all that protected them from crimson rivers,
But even then one... by one... they fell
All for the ones they loved.
Red and Black tinted the horizon,
And gray swept through the fields.

Poppies rose from filthy fields
And they placed memories in their pockets,
Watched the sun set upon the horizon
As the soothing sound of the trickling river
Shared the perfect moment everyone loved;
As finally the long awaited silence fell.

So think of those who fell
Within the crimson fields
You are who they loved.
You kept the smile in their pocket
Their souls have filled the river
And their hearts brighten the horizon.

For The final tear fell, and landed in the pocket;
Of the soldier in the field, beside the bloodied rivers;
Going home to the ones they loved, they set towards the horizon