War

You observe my wounds
yet you stop to talk of the weather.

I look to notice the clouds
not in the sky above, but those in the
eyes of my Kin.

I bleed
Yet what you offer me drains my veins.
What is there that sits upon me more
outside the negligence of my existence?

Today I wanted to kill a man
for all the things that he had said.

Yesterday I shot dead a man
Simply because he, would have,
killed me.

War does seem to be war
on whatever ground we stand to fight.
Over there marches my enemy
Here – stands you –
the traitor on homes shore.

Poppy February 2014 ~xx~