A cool white blanket falls
Upon the rubble-filled landscape,
Burning fires smolder at the foot
Of man's deadly technology.
A technology with tracks
That decimates all in its path.

It is over, all is lost.
The frozen steel sits idle,
Spitting up its oily bodily fluids,
As we wait for our captors.
Our captors of blue and blond.

Looking down at the frost-bitten ground
I find no comfort in this foreign soil.
It warrants death and destruction.
Soaring buzzards sputter above.
The harbingers of our demise,
Forewarning of the advance.

The falling winter heavies my eyelids,
Encroaching my body with weariness.
It is over, all is lost.
Our captors of blue and blond
A goose step away.

The thunderous roar of steel
Grows louder and louder.
The muffled voices in a tongue
Not understood but not so foreign.
My welcomed weariness dawns,
As the accents become distinct and close.

The captors of blue and blond are upon us.
The weariness pulls at me,
Taking me to a warmth
That I have longed for.
I slip away to dark
To familiar soils.