A shared free flow poem created with the help of a fellow late night online stranger.
You: little tic...little toc...little tic...little toc...
Stranger: no time to mock
You: He thought as he put on his sock, cot made, sheet to blanket, four inch fold. Hasting to dress in his duds as he rushed with his shaved head among the spuds...
Stranger: I'm so tired to be honest
You: To hear the bugle before light, the Cli-Clank of steel and leather, the hump of heat and heaved breath, hoping to keep pace as one among the many
Stranger: you go on
You: He thought, maybe they'll understand as he pleaded to let himself to give in...to fall and fail, but he didn't. the mushing sound of leather sole to pave as a centipede keeping a four four pace, chanting the songs of stamina...
Stranger: never stop, because he'll
You: Cha-Khunk! The final sound of the many coming to a halt. Lines of heels to steel facing the dawning sky, casting shadows of giants behind the field of grass covered men..Pacing from side to side, holding no mercy within his eye
