Settling dust after an explosion gently drifts to the ground,
And so we blow up but start to calm down.
Such harsh words with razor implications,
Why must we maim when we are left to cure the casualties?
Barbwire glances and muddied uniforms
Lead only to the hard thought of new open wounds on top of old scars.
Have you learned to love the passion
You can feel like glass in your eyes?
That feeling of winning and strangling all regret,
So pure but so violent: assuming there's a difference.
One last blow to end our present beguile,
A death stroke, a termination. The end of the road.
She wetted her lips and waited for the blood to flow;
"You say you're happy but I think that's a lie."
"I don't believe you when you smile…" And she's right.
I'll die a hero with a flag upon my grave,
Looking up from Hell knowing,
Things are better this way.
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