Predawn: A Poem

by Emma

Smoke, coating the battlefield, rising

with the heat of the sun in the sky—

and beneath it

the black darkness

of death.

Young men and women,

hot lead pouring

right through their bodies,

their hearts beating

in the bloodied sand.

Above their broken bodies arched a rain of gunfire—

explosions—

twisted metal flying through the air—

and the earth beneath them

soaked with hatred.

In this dark predawn,

the last shots flew,

the last warriors fell—

and for the longest time

the quiet of death hung in the air.