Seven Minutes after Midnight

A shadow darker than the night
fills the empty space
in this foriegn ground
where I write to you.

By the light of a blessed moon
I take pen to paper and write you
one last letter...

One last letter
before the words which I speak
only though pen and paper,
sent by the uncaring will
of a soldier,
will be given to you by the person
whos heart writes them so.

Now as the breeze blows
it sends me the essence of you.
Your spirit from a home so far away
fills me with joy
that I will see you soon.

If I could only tell you
the things that I have seen,
the places I have been,
and the lives which have passed
through my life
and into the next,
some by my hands,
I sware to you, my love,
you would share the emptiness I feel
right now.

There is gunfire in the distance.
Though they tell us the war is over,
to those who fight it,
the pawns and the knights,
we know that war never ends.
It just stops
and waits to start again.

The words escape me
as to explain to you further.
True love has no words
to describe or to explain.
And so, I will end this letter
on a promise.

A promise that when the sun rises
I will count the seconds,
the minutes, the hours,
of when it will be time to see you again.

I pray for seas of glass,
winds of calm,
and starlight so bright
I could trace the path to our home
with a finger in the sky.

And with no more words,
I say...