(Trigger warning: War/ reference to suicide)
Battle is conflict, all war is hate.
An idea lost through a long dreaded wait.
It is permanent, it's bold, it's up in your face
flashing on news screens, then disappearing without trace.
The media, they press blood into our hands,
blood spilt in our own lands.
Endless arguments where none agree,
the darkness that swallows all that is free.
And here we sit all safe and sound,
wondering when our turn will come around.
And it hits, the black that chokes up the sky,
surrounded by terror of the coffins that fly.
And we flee, and we run cloaked by fear.
Only to find it has followed us here.
I see every development in Sunday's death note.
A flash of orange on the screen, an inflatable boat.
Falling asleep to the count of bombs in a silent room.
Hoping and praying I'll flee the locked cupboard, the tomb.
And one day I'll stop drowning and be able to hear
a simple, easy, solution, crystal clear.
Each day I see the angels dance in the sky,
and know I'll only be free, when I fly.
YOU ARE READING
Happiness, Blue and red oversized hoodies
Non-FictionProbably not interesting unless you know me. Ramblings about things that make me laugh and smile. As well as some random as poetry-because why be predictable.
