Thoughts of war

I remember
potato peel soup
tin can porridge
each morning you forage
you do what it takes
you eat what it makes
to survive
bones and marrow
salt is gold
water wine
life inside
is fine
life in a bunker
for a time
sunshine
when you can
when you can go out
life outside
is fearful
life outside the bunker
is loud
smells of decay
and sadness
nothing is the same
no one remains
scurrying like rats
among the rats
gathering with fear
whatever it takes
to survive
taking, wearing
dead men's clothes
and shoes
air raid drills
the daily news
how many more dead
the thick damp
musty air
in the bunker
a baby's first breath
of air
in there
iodine and cigarettes
cleanse and cauterize
shoe polish in the still
methanol on my breath
infection is death.

I was afraid
to venture past
the sand bags and
abandoned machine gun nests
I managed to once
I was frozen in my steps
there were ten
no twenty
there had to be a hundred
dead bodies
in various forms
decomposition
filled the air
grabbed my guts
I couldn't tell which side
any of them were from
as my guts burned
I puked until bile bleed
out from my eyes
at the horrible sight before me
that had me totally
unable to do anything but
puke and cry
puke and cry
feverish, blisters,
festering wounds
the stench
from the trench
where the dead lay
dear God
help me erase that day
make it through today.

One other day found me
searching for water
a canteen
I had seen
my luck
would find me
in place I'd never been
ankle deep in mud
and blood
rats were everywhere
there was so much blood
you could smell it's
sweet metallic odour
rats scurrying
gnawing, eating the dead
eating the dead!
I spotted three of them
huddled together
two were faceless
mortar shell I assumed
the third a young boy
no more than 19
I took his canteen
and then removed another
from the first faceless ones
severed arm
retrieving the third one
out of the red mud
I thanked them as I left
I had water
at least till tomorrow.

The slow winding sound
of the air raid siren
breaking through the air
again and then
whistling of bombs
and more bombs
falling from above
we all begin
the routine run
back into the bunkers
the ground shaking
earthquaking all around
machine gun fire
pecking through the air
like woodpeckers
the shouts of soldiers
attacking, running
lying, dying
people screaming
racing, pushing
and shoving
fear has children
pushed and left
as equal
they're shopping
for their life
and nothing, no one
can stop them
as they trample each other
stampede like wild animals
to be safe, perhaps.
When the door closes
the sound of bombs
and more bombs cover
the sounds of terror
sounds of abandonment
the sounds of death
Each time the door closes
is not without cost
new friends made
and old friends lost.

The streets are quiet
the dying are dead
children playing run over
under, around the rubble
without a care
the only know one thing
they only know to play
they only know war
the dead are part
of their environment
their neighbourhood
a graveyard
where friends and neighbours
lay and play

where a stone is the world

one child is all children
what will they bring
or take from this place
anger, hatred and guns
living in the danger zone

this war is all wars
introspective remembrance
numbs the mind
silences the tongue
blinds the eyes
witnessed the execution of
a priest and seven nuns
how can this be war
this makes no sense
killing innocents
the scars are deep
and for years
they will keep
the secret inside
deeply darkened
sad faces...

take my hand and we

will find a new home

a fresh start....

war pictures thanks to Illustrated History : Relive the times
http://incredibleimages4u.blogspot.com/