The black and white television perfection
of the decade past is a lost dream,
and thousands of miles away.
It’s a black and white world
Loud bullet machines, crying.
flesh splitting crimson.
But now, finally, peace.
under the lucid, quiet moon..
Lying in a field of crimson,
I realize he is no different than me..
and as our life forces flow into the sea..
It doesn’t belong to us, it doesn’t belong,
to our grieving Mothers,
or our predecessor Fathers,
The fruits of our Mother’s milk,
and bitterness of our Mother’s tears,
feed the war machine.
And upon hearing her faint lullaby,
The stars envelop me..
-Dedicated to all Veterans
© Diana Ganić