asleep
barrels battered with crimson sweat
rust slowly awaiting better times to muster
cannons fire, leaving clouds of putrid smoke
filling the skies and eyes of child and soldier alike
tears brought from different lands
all laid to rest on the same flooded ground
ashes that once made souls and giant cathedrals
cram our lungs burnt with gunpowder and guilt
we dream of wars but are nightmares are filled with peace
so quiet, so desolate
like a barren field which awaits the farmer’s plow
or a man whose final thoughts
catch his father’s hand on his shoulder
telling him that everything will be alright
so quiet, so desolate
so different from this hell we’re living
if we even can live at all, between the shit and the piss
is there really any life to be lived
between death and eternal light?
the truth comes to us in the form of a ray of light
5