PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

to dress up

in near angelic madness

must be an offshoot

of true sanity

jacked up and scared

standing at a desolate bridge

viewing the deceptive distance

of the uncertain crossroads

yonder ahead

a joy like bravado emerges

it hails from

remnents of elation felt

over the next bullet

that this particular boy

(he that my conscience for this moment

chooses to encompass)

does not have to load

in yet another chamber

of his already adrenalin over dosed psyche

knowing he can clean and command

this vibrating pipe that spits out the fire

of death

by and with his very own two quite ordinairy

hands

and his job of killing for the day will be

done

what must the scenes and acts

coupled with the smells and methods of war

do to the young fresh and impressionable of

society's ranks

is it for this faceless whom

that on this podium of  purposed poetry

I have come to stand

so solemnly armed with my pen and words

ever more grateful

that I myself am

not such a boy or man

occupying the muddy boots

of a soldier's command

for all are but

SPARROWS

trapped in the tunnels

of the the raging WAR machine

fluttering desperately

and so anxious are most

simply to get to go home and

be safe again

this peak into the fear

has to be

one of many of war's

surreal realities

lived hourly by all combatants

in the thick of fierce battle

Melissa

(April 2,2003 (215am)