Shrapnel

The priest picked up a piece
A shrapnel from the war
Twisted shard of metal
Rusted at the edges
That bled his father's life
When he was but a lad.
It now seems so remote
Almost just memories
Devoid of any feels
Nothing but a twisty
Misshapen human life.

December 5, 2015

© 2016 Christopher Mahan