Carved Hands

A soldier is standing across another.Between them a lake with soal waters.A gun is standing across another.Different hands are carrying them as different are the eyes looking at each other.As barrels are pointing, as terror commands they stay still like statues without souls. ''Drop it''! Yells the first one ''Or you will be dead''.The second soldier does not speak.He stays there, stern, like a Taurus in front of the red cloth.They are angry, they are afraid.The sun is shading it's light upon the edge of the guns and shadows of themselves appear behind them like their other selves in a bloody past,a revolution of cause unknown,a windy blaze of souls incomplete.As seconds passing they remember the moments they lived in a life carved.They see in front of them the last smile of a friend lost, fire and gunpowder their body smells.They are watching the same terror in front of each other eyes as battlefield was not a gap but a bridge to bind together the same scars loads they will be carrying for the rest of their lives carved with blood, human's blood they have in their hands.They do confront their choices in an empty paper with unwritten words their lost dreams folding the nights of their youth, youth defeated and shaken.Bombs are exploding covering the creepy silence. Screams and terror a cruel repeat that makes the souls return to ground.They now know.They cant fight against each other.They can only fight against their fate.A voice coming from the first like a scream of despair says: ''Forgive me''.A tear falls on the land, planting a divine reason on earth.