By Damien Knight
The dawn of the morning light
Peeks through my window clear.
I dreamt through the night
Vivid dreams of war my dear.
I wake throat sore body shaken
Aniya! If I could cry out
Where are you, am I mistaken?
The bodies strewn about
But I have never been to war
Not this life time anyway.
Yet I awake cold and unsure
If my mind is clear to face day
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The Shade of Writing 