.Last Sunset in February.

I am reminscing on Feburary,

Watching its last sunset bleed into March,

Feburary was war.

A field of landmine hearts exploding too quickly.

I find myself again:

singed.

But

still alive;

catching my breath; smouldering;

coughing ash from my lungs;

trying to prop myself up from the gaping wound,

I soldier on:

March

onward;

brave into the unknown.