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By Stephen Cheney
Strangers meet, IFF.
Shadows killing shadows.
Shells and empty cases,
an acrid, metallic
knife-edged smell.
Bloodye belligerante,
Bloodye innocente,
White flesh torn, running red.
A personal history flowing from the heart;
unique human memories lost in the sand.
Imposed ideas are never favored.
Calls to Prayer
cannot stitch up the wounded land.
When you can stomach no more,
cough it up.
(Image: Prayer in the Mosque - Jean-Léon Gérôme)
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Dissecting Society™ welcomes all sorts of comments, as we are strong advocates of freedom of speech; however, we reserve the right to delete Troll Activity; libellous and offensive comments (e.g. racist and anti-Semitic) plus those with excessive foul language. This blog does not view vulgarity as being protected by the right to free speech. Cheers
Afghanistan is a bad field to fight in in every damn way. But I like to think that we did a good job there. One thing we learned from that battle though, we can't impose our values on other people.
ReplyDeleteA realistic description of a kill. This is one of those poems that only who has been through this can understand.
ReplyDeleteCheney,
ReplyDeletePowerful! Only you to insert beauty, through your writing skills, in a bloody scenario.
I prefer to drink up the words instead of verbalising them right now...
Cheers