semi-rest

My heart is at semi-rest. Armies on opposite hills face each other — retreated — but still at war. Dried tears, slaughtered bodies lie after the battle’s hushed, but no one’s counted the fallen yet. No one knows who’s won.

Rumors run ’round about the valient fight put up by the northern army, but — I know — the general wants more than stories told of one soldier’s fancy swordsmanship or another’s skillful evasiveness. He wants victory and won’t settle for less.

I look at my wounds. My heart is at semi-rest.

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