Gliding through a starless sky,
he aims for the glow of Heaven.
Staring into a midnight tunnel,
his closed eyes are a shield against
pain. The night air is warmed by the
release of earthly slings and arrows.
He can no longer feel the rough woven
branches of Puck’s crown of thorns;
a blast of air, heat and suddenly
no aches, no joys, no feelings left.
He seized the day; then snuffed
out his light.
All they found was the stench of gunsmoke
in the air and the shell he once called home.
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