poetry by j matthew waters

commissioned to the colorful meadow

when I reached one hundred years
there were no celebrations
for the world was at war yet again

though unable to wield bow & arrow
I could still shoot a rifle
I tried to explain to the chieftain
but he pushed me aside
and called for the next in line

three days passed
and I showed up yet again
this time with shovel in hand
explaining how a man my age
could still dig graves

he kissed me on both cheeks
first this one and then the next
followed by shouting out
my marching orders

august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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10 thoughts on “commissioned to the colorful meadow

  1. I love your writing

  2. The Hollow on said:

    The dismal reality of war—the young dying while the old bury them. A sobering piece.

  3. Loved this poem!! Beautiful!!

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