No twig did crunch – this man was extra weary
As he approached a chrysanthemum glade
Indistinct voices, smell of blooming cherry
Mixed with a powder smell, and scent of cade.

A breath of wind brought cherry odour closer
Small cordate petals streamed among the pines
The cautious man took out his loyal Mauser
The muzzle wounding air with trembling lines

They didn’t notice him. The first - deceasing
In second’s arms, as flower fades and sears,
The other listened to what he was wheezing,
His face looked serene notwithstanding tears       

Once he did say he wouldn’t want to lose him
There was no need or motive to repeat
Young’s uniform was wet and dark at bosom
A crimson rose was blooming out of it

The lone observer silently stepped backwards
And dashed in headlong through the forest dark
He ran avoiding trunks in sombre backwoods
And through the burnt out plains with frameworks stark

No matter what he did and where was strolling
Whom did he kill, that terrors had to face-
He never fell asleep without recalling
Two generals in their last embrace

KUNZITE’S LONGEST NIGHT

He rambles round in misty shade
He feels his soul a hand grenade
With roughly pulled-out iron pin
And tender petals hammered in

He stops to light a small cigar
And smokes while looking at the star
Eyelashes turn its blazing rays
Into a dewy silver maze

Uncertain lighting’s vague and dim
The twilight serves a mask for him
Concealing wet distorted face.
He climbs the tower staircase

Each landing seems to be his last
And fingers leave long weals in dust
Like coming down in stuffy vault
And taste of wind’s erased by salt 

His castle sings a grief lament
The trees are sorrowfully bent
The towers freeze in silent moan
Since he returned back home alone