Reid@YWP

It was the night when the battle turned.

The speaker sat back

There was gas in their eyes and hatred,

Blackened like needles,

Though dirty still,

And twice as sharp,

There is a light, 

one small glimmer. 

It flickers like the flames, 

fighting the darkness. 

Dim, 

you are an ocean, 

a transparent abyss of blue 

that could swallow someone whole,  

waves battering against thick grains of sand. 

you are a battlefield, 

I’m four years old and it’s pumpkin season again. 

I’m holding tightly to my best friend’s mittened hand 

and feeling the wind whipping at my face, 

turning the tip of my nose pink,