A Runner's Mess

Thunder.
Plundering death.
A mess of wonder.
Wet and hungered.
Set in numbers,
Runners.
A blessed gun to rest the comer.
Amongst the set Sun’s a Summer’s slumber.
Alone a hunted hunter hunts a home.
Month to months of roam.
The sun is cold.
Numb and almost froze becomes another foe.
Only hope, and an oath so wonderful,
Holds a swollen soul so clothed.
Close grows home.
Oh.
Oh so slow.
The swollen soul goes broke, with clothes so soaked.
Wet and hungered.
Summer.
A ghost amongst the blessed gun to rest the comer.
The hole.
The thunder.
Plundering death.
A runner.
A ghost.
And yes,
This mess of wonder.