Charles J. Ingerson


Free floating overhead
parasites found in war
hoping somehow I’m dead
then my limbs to be tore.

Hearing rumbles far away
not the thunder of storm
but others in heaven to play
only the sound to warn.

Sinking deep into shadows
and other lonely things
all that the terror allows
a darkness comfort brings.

Hearing the whistle high
then in concussions felt
all this from the blue sky
my being ever to pelt.

Shadows of lonely things
remind of long ago today
hearing thunders wings
with lightning’s rare display