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.
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