Ashes: the Reverberation of the Soul

Artillery fire exploded beside me, I hear the wail in the ashes. That's not the wind, it's the cold breath in the trench, It's not rain, it's the frozen teardrops in my hometown. Floating catkins are flying in the scorched earth, I saw that the earth remained silent. That's not snow, it's a hanging shroud, It's not a flower, it's the mother's open arms. I am both the mourner and the tombstone; It is a misfired cannonball, and it is also a lingering sound that will never dissipate.