By: James Aitchison

In the quiet minutes,
before the sun dips from sight,
the earth holds its breath as a day dies.
We dare not breathe either.
It is when hatred dissipates in a blaze,
when thoughts disconnect from past lives,
when we are born anew.
Yet a death in the night to come?
Inevitable!
And on the battlefield,
the blood-red release of a soldier.
But not now! Not yet!
Sunset is the healer,
the dispenser of wisdom
melting down upon us.