He sat at his desk, a barren land of dust and fingerprints.
No photos, no books. Anything that could be there, wasn't.
The raven slouched over his desk, elbows making their mark in the grey film.
The black gnarled mess that sat atop his head, masked his face.
It shielded him from the single beam of light that snuck in through the dingy office curtains.
It shielded him from the painful reminder of living.
He held a single piece of fabric, delicately between his fingers.
Shining of white and blue, a pair of wings.
The wings represented freedom,
Away from the walls, away from the enemy.
He pulls a box from under the desk, placing the patch inside with many more alike.
Each tells it's own story, though,
Given it's own adventure,
It's own ending.
Each unique, like their former possessors.
One torn in half, one speckled in blood.
The box grows fuller with each expedition.
Comrades. Friends. Family.
Lost within combat.
Some are still yet to be found.
He runs his hands through his hair with frustration, anger, sorrow, confusion.
Wondering why he still ventures outside,
Still trains soldiers to retrieve something that will never be found.
Maybe he has nothing else,
Maybe he needs something to look foward to.
Whatever it is, he knows he will always have the joyous remembrance of those within,
His box full of patches.
I decided to try a third person written poem? Thing. I don't know. I have an AU where levi keeps just a plain shoebox underneath his desk in which he places all of his fallen comrades' patches into. Explaination: In episode 22, Levi is shown ripping Petra's patch off of her jacket as a memoir of some sort before giving it to the whiny Dieter, psh. And I thought what better place to put it in than a box! Whoohoo! With all of his other dead friends' patches. I hope you liked it, I enjoyed writing it.