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.
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,
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~