Goldfinch60

Is there no hope?

The man looks out from where he lay,

Into the distance from whence came,

The horror that had caused

the forlorn look upon his twisted face.

 

The tears run down the cheek

Of the other, looking on from outside,

At the anguish reproduced

By the skill of the artist.

 

The hope of the soldier has gone

From his fearful face.

The hope of the onlooker fortified

By the skill of the artist.