What lingers after war is what dreams are made of. |
The Dreams The child-like kiss, warm and sweet, salted tears upon her cheek. A whisper of love...softly said, soothed her heart filled with dread. Time was short upon this earth she wished for more with her child of birth. But soon to pass was her duty call and knew she had to leave them all. Her bag was packed, gear was stowed, still on her face...her anguish showed. After entering the Army base, the bus unloaded with greatest haste. A line was formed, two rows deep, arms length apart, a soldiers sweep. Deployment issued, they piled aboard a transport taking them abroad. In silence, head bowed, many prayed fearful of how war was played. Arrival time seemed way too soon as scornful clouds obscured the moon. The enemy, transparent in this war, were the children of the massive poor. Pawns of destruction, in a game of chess, with explosives strapped around their chest. Devastated beyond belief, she thought of her child home fast asleep. She gripped her rifle as if to say 'I've PMS, so STAY AWAY!' Anger flooded throughout her veins as thunder echoed in her brain. The silence, shattered by the screams, of explosions echoing in her dreams. Dreams repeated both night and day tauntingly saying, "Come out and play". For years thereafter the beads of sweat, soaked her nightmares with regret. Regrets of helplessness, with what she saw, of the hopelessness pictured by the war. Though untouched by any physical harm, her mind still wanders through streets of napalm. 40 lines |