At Midnight

This is a strange one.

At Midnight

We’ll meet at midnight back to back
In a wasteland where the earth is cracked.
Take ten steps each before we draw
Stand bowed like soldiers facing war
As the parched sea laps the ragged shore.

In an atmosphere that stifles breath
All thoughts are dust, and dust is death.
In stagnant air no words are spoke,
The rocks resound when you clear your throat
And cannot speak, but gutter and choke.

The yellow sky is bruised it seems,
From purple clouds a vulture screams,
The only witness from above
Of bitter poison born of love.
As some private tender course is run
Each tiny figure draws a gun
And of the two remains not one.

17/4/05