18 miles to go
There, an encampment awaits us
Swarming with men who have differing points of view
It’s the potential setting of my demise
But I don’t really know that
I never do
I just march
Because I’m told
The consequences of not marching far outweighs what is in store for us there
Mile after mile I envision it
My ending
I shouldn’t do so
It just tears my stomach raw
But I can’t help it
I fret for my commrades
Whom I’ve known for mere months
Their existence in my life a meager fraction
Of my total days
Letters written
Painting an auspicious depiction
No need to worry them
Any more than they already are
My one hope
Is that my words of promise
Bestow a surplus of comfort
Shall these be my final 18 miles
Whipped Owl 