Again and again he cut the air with parts that splintered heroes that broke the fall of the dead, the wounded and the living.
by Livi Topley
He choked himself with his actions.
And now he see’s a blade disappear in the harsh, cold mud of war.
Oh reality, you bitter thing, you constant reminder of it all.
I drew my sword and shot my gun for you.
And never got my fix, my simple kick was numbed out and spat on like before.
Now you kill my brothers and hack at the concept of peace till it bleeds and coughs up a lung.
And I drink only for comfort and smoke the paper off a rollup because it’s the one thing that reminds me of home.
The ink from my mother’s letters just dribbles off the page and mixes with grey skies and dusty floors.
She writes of sisters in classes with teachers whose names are too foreign and too long to pronounce.
And beneath the screaming ammunition, beneath the tears and stifled cries, I smile of distant happiness and minor faults.
I pray for a time when the sun will set on days that don’t end in strife.
I watch the blanket of the sky pierced with dots and diamonds and wonder of my future and what it will prevail,
Because tonight I’ll be lonely, searching for a reason why is all real.