printed: F.U.C.K. Poetry Venture #005

        dull flicker, the room dances with life;
        whisper of trance pours from the speakers
        bowing head, warrior prepares for strife
        so much time crashes by;
        its the longest minutes of his life
        and his duty begs him to cry
        as he wishes he was dead
        silent warrior kneels among the bodies
        while the field runs red