When all the pieces fall
in their perfect places,
we pick them up anyway
in hope
and having faith
for the future.
upon returning,
all the same routines—
all personality remains—
despite the silence.
The same headache to find—
Still to state useless words.
But behind closed doors were memories
That I was not about to let go—
far from fading.
In the corner,
left for only
the curious eyes
to find:
The little soldiers that tried—
Lay dead still and defeated—
trapped but bound by love & desire.
the time of death remains unknown—
their disposal known to the few
leaders left to lead.
And with the little sense
to know any better
But wondering regardless:
which land did these soldiers
wish to conquer?
The rumor told over and over:
curiosity kills.
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