Harps of a Muse
I’ve seen silence silence the muffled cries
of a wounded soldier; abandoned, by his own comrades.
I’ve seen him hold on to the fading light desperately.
And I’ve heard tranquility sing his funeral
for I sang along with it.
But my voice breaks at the
beat of your war drum.
My heart fails at the sight of blood;
blood trickling slowly down a forgotten lane;
a lane that once harbored happiness and
My words, they can’t bear to
sound over the clamor of death and destruction
the hubbub of all the burnt down bridges.
And my senses fail when people
proclaim this destruction, progress.
My staccato warble
and trail into a crescendo,
as I stand blinded in the
middle of a war field.
Blinded by the past
blinded by memories,
of what once was a child’s playground.
Of what once was happy, unbroken and bright.
Because, when all our lives
Are rumbles and stones
crumbling to ashes,
from the forgotten playgrounds that became land mines;
To schools that went from teaching peace to preaching war;
To the endless smoke that rises up every night.
We cherish corpses.
And we lend our bones and souls to that war drum
as we dance to that lifeless beat.
We pledge our souls to our borders
only to kill of another member
of our own species
for our confines plagiarized our significance as humans.
As we stand now;
blinded by the smoke that rising high
from that everything that fell…
This poisonous smoke, poisonous, more than
smoke bombs or screens;
a smoke that feeds the generations to come
as they seek blood
A blood for the blood their fathers had shed,
To quench the thirst they were born with.
and now everything just falls into the smog.
The blinding smoke.
And I breathe.
And I let the battlefield explode.
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