Fray

Sew the threads from leaves of trees,

Weave them with a hundred beads.

Tie tight the knots that hold them there;

Go and sell them in the square.

When you find they've gone to rot,

And no one wants your precious lot,

Rip and tear them string from thread,

And crawl down deep inside your head.

Let your wasteland mind be filled,

With memories of the men you killed.

Do not let them close their eyes,

Until you've torn them limb from pride.

Sew the waters of the sea.

Respect their lifeless weights at peace.

Cover them with worn grey veil,

And let their souls set off to sail.

-Owen M. Whiting