You draw something indistinctly on each page,
some kind of lines that seek their points
where the gone souls will meet.

Maybe it’s not the time to burn
the meaning of ill words with sounds in flames
over the edge of the unspoken words.

I was lost in the shadow of lost wars
a soldier with the haversack in the back
and nobody calls me to fight.

I train myself and you bring me
cold and sharp weapons.