I met a boy, his name was Rory,

he was covered in blood, tears,

and glory.

He laid in the snow, colored it red,

I gave him a blanket and a stolen

piece of bread.

“It’s hurts” he cried

so I stuffed some snow in

his wound and turned him on his side

“Did we win?” I asked

the planes had gone

gone silent

and the world

seemed just a little

less violent

“We?”

He tightened his bloody hands

around my wrist

stared me right in the eyes

as if to make sure he continued to

exist

in the dark of my pupils

in the back of my mind

in what was nothing

but a date and a time

Me saving him was a threat

he begged me to let him go

to let the sun set

I thought just the most I could do

was not enough, no matter what

I sat there with that dying boy

and let death take noise

Who was he?

I struggled to see

what was told?

the sky full of stars seemed

dead and cold;

a place once so magical

hurt to behold.