Waiting for something new.

This is a short freewrite.

*war is not the statistics,
The weary newscaster mentioning
Names of cities, of towns,
Like a list of the lost,
Murder venerated with tongue.
The weak is fodder for fire,
The strong are bullet holes for hire.
It is not the faux arousal of intent
But the burning of home & body,
Of memory & tomorrow.
War is not quiet, docile, sweet,
He is tender like flayed flesh,
Gentle like the fall on flowers.
It is powerful as a god, kingdom come,
An alleluia filled with wrath.
War is mother & child, father & gun,
War is distortion, eruption
Of blood vessels, tearful wringing
Of hands, pleas against boot heels,
War is when words are not enough,
& relationships corrupt, friendship
Subverted, & death wins all throws;
Sixes only, a solid unbeaten run.

📷: _pixabay

©Osahon, 2020.