War
Is loud.
But inside,
I am quiet—
Counting every breath.
Mud clings like old regrets.
Smoke writes names across the sky.
I don’t remember why we came,
Just the look in my captain’s tired eyes.
We move forward. That’s the only command.
A veteran soldier dares not bear his soul,
for he knows that the pain he has
inflicted upon others in the name of freedom;
was not condoned by his conscience.
And when drugs couldn't dull
the cutting edge of guilt anymore:
the nightmares came.
Deep down, in his subconscious,
where dreams do not go willingly:
ghosts, tethered to night-terrors,
stock the ebony emptiness of sleep.
Shadows conceal shadows
within shadows of night:
shunning the glare of daylight.
But it is what it is:
there is no wrong or right in war; only death.
It's impossible to ignore the silent screams.
And yet, he fools himself
into believing that he no longer hears them.
But anxiety's rise has proven
him wrong, over and over again.
Years of suppressing acid tears:
has worn a hole in his heart;
and he dares not bear his soul.
Curious of precious human wisdom,
a dog borrowed human body parts.
Head, acquired from a bush hunter.
Ears, loaned from a classroom teacher.
Legs came from a marathon champion
Eyes were got from a veteran soldier
Voice planted from a beautiful actress.
The new career was fresh and exciting.
It went up down streets boasting to others
yet the dog remained a dog in deeds;
it barked, talked not and hated kittens!
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