Birdsong. <br /> <br />As he lay there <br />he became aware <br /> <br />of the dirt <br />under his fingernails <br /> <br />clutching on to the earth <br />as if it were possible <br /> <br />to let go <br />& fall off into infinity. <br /> <br />Up this close <br />his fingernails loomed <br /> <br />like tombstones. <br /> <br />Blood seeped <br />almost tenderly <br /> <br />over the tips <br />of his fingers <br /> <br />scolding him <br />for wasting <br /> <br />his life <br />staining the soil. <br /> <br />His fingerprints <br />looked like ploughed ridges <br /> <br />obscured now <br />with blood and dirt. <br /> <br />He felt <br />as if he were <br /> <br />turning to <br />marble <br /> <br />slowly he could feel it <br />creep down <br /> <br />inch by cold inch <br /> <br />his outstretched arm <br />like a statue <br /> <br />as he died <br />into becoming <br /> <br />the Unknown <br />Soldier <br /> <br />the sound <br />of camera clicks <br /> <br />all day <br />like little birds.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-songs-of-birds/
