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The Aubade of War

The aubade of war was a blissful sound, dulling me to sleep.

My man was getting ready to be greeted by Battle.

And I had insisted he wear white, but he wanted to cosplay the brown

Tunic that he wore when we wed many a guns ago.

And so we had fought over his love for blood than me.

We had also argued over what to name our unborn child,

As he had wanted to name her Diana.

‘The goddess of the hunt’, he had mused, and I had gone still.

He had looked at me, with an accusatory look in his eye,

Trying to find his wife, the woman who warmed his sheets,

To smile before he galloped into the wildnerness. I had not.

I knew I should have kissed him before he disappeared into the fog,

Before I knew that blood was seeping through my legs, but it was late.

As I grew numb, a firework exploded and I could hear his song, weep for me.

He had called my name, screamed as if he were in an orgasmic fervor,

Wanting to unite with my body, to help him know I wanted him still.

But I could neither respond nor walk through the aisle, I was happy with pain.

And then I heard, the banger as musical melody to my ears,

And then I sensed the father of my child unite with our child.

And I had sang like a banshee, who prophesized a miracle,

It was destiny that the aubade of war was a blissful sound, lulling me to sleep.



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