" Note: This poem is fictitious and is based on the psychological effects of an individual involved in war crimes and the ill effects as depicted. :-) For world peace..."
Advisory - Content might not be suitable for sensitive readers.
His Brittle eyes seep,
Frigid lips waxed still…
A portrait on a
shelf to keep,
And soil for a heart to till…
A Centipede eats up the edge,
The play is staged with rage…
An actor burnt alive under the bridge,
An old man despises his age…
His eyes crave for sadness,
Whilst sadness craves for peace…
The torch lit up with madness,
Time to tickle his hand a tease…
The gun lies naked on the table,
His fingerprints
recite its only law …
The blood painted on the curtain writes a fable,
Spelt with names he lusted like a saw…
The night was cold with the wind still young,
His mind filled with the anthems they sung…
Chants recited from the depths of a lung,
A weeping brays where the bells once rung…
The bullet lain cold on the bed,
His only friend to sleep in filth...
A tragedy swallowed the soul he once wed,
The tragedy he once fought now just guilt…
The medal shined with the same old pride,
Yet his veins sufficed seldom…
The war is death’s smiling bride,
What gives life and what the hell’s freedom?
Confused with thoughts,
A pillow to invite lost nightmares…
The sheet tied in knots,
Bedbugs now his only dare…
He looks outside the window,
The moon hates the sight of him…
The stars have no words to endow,
The wind all cold and grim…
He once stood upon a stage,
Named a soldier who fought a war…
To a play where the crowd cheered in rage,
The same voices now afar…
No pigeon now brings him peas,
The medals now just fruits on a wooden tree…
His uniform now sold in a lease,
For the children to play a game called Peace!!
