Birds of a dead heart: A poem

I sleep
With open arms
Sometimes the birds
I whistle to
In the afternoon
They come
To take me

Here we fly
In the night
In the sky of
Fields of war
Where we fought
Where we died

Here we fly
In the night
In the sky of
Fields of war
Where we fought
Where we died

Here we walk
Rotten and killed
Piece by piece our
Soul has left
This what walks now
With the birds
That still whistle
And fly

Thanks for reading this poem.