camp prison

The eyes I painted on the cell wall cry a tear for every lost ally who receive the wrong ghosts. I am one of the wax tears on the candle I bandaged unable to fall, is heaven waxing angels wrapped in the narrative of war waiting for names. The flame reaches the bandage, I am unable to gauge colours as I watch bodies being carried out of the prison camp in sacks- I am led to the tattoo day has placed on night's back of a sunken church with an exposed spire seeking history's vein.