Snapshot

That thunder roaring in my ears
is it heartbeats or artillery?
When Johnson suddenly disappears
I dive for cover frantically;
my mouth is filled with salty mud,
an amalgam of earth and blood.

Another flaming rocket whines
its harpy scream of violent doom,
within my hand your locket shines
as crimson blossoms brightly bloom—
a gentle click and soon I’m free,
this glossy gaze my elegy.