Little green army men

 

In ancient dreams,

vacant memories shocked to life.

I saw air force battles over flatline skies.

Across the fields

where so many lost hours

can still be found

buried in the long grass.

I saw fast blurs exploding past

into enemy fire. I saw lives floating by,

lost in the blink of an eye.

 

I saw the crash

of a ruined country in collapse.

In distant dreams I saw fires raging,

war playing outon the field

green screen,

where we would pretend to be

little green plastic army men.

Sticks for guns, trees protecting

from bullet wounds.

 

In those

war ravaged lullabies,

whispering my eyes to sleep,

I heard the end beginning in flame.

I saw missiles rain.

Apocalyptic pain

erupting through the

earth's ripped ruptured veins.

Gurgled screams

of a world breathing its last.

 

But I was able to open my eyes,

realising that this was a nightmare.

I swore to never lift a fist in rage,

never to hurt another if talking

or writing words on a page

could spare the pain.

I saw in my dreams,

I felt, my eyes stream

at the way too many

songs are left unsung,

when war comes to town.

 

In some places,

these dreams

are not figments of the mind.

They don't live inside.

You can't pinch yourself

to stop the red blood tide

washing over your nightmares.

So let words drown out the guns.

Let our songs sing louder than bombs.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love & Poetry 

 

Kyle