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As You Rifle Through My Dreams.

Updated on May 2, 2017

Anti-war thoughts

As You Rifle Through My Dreams.



Bits of what's lead us to sorrow,

I count my bullets in bullet-tins

that chronicle the losses.

One for each heart silenced

by the impact of my cold calculations

One for the country

each mark the Den of iniquity

created and one for its art

copper jacketed, hollow point

sculptures of raw flesh

hung in mid-air

One for the bed of earth

beneath which they will lie

And one for the person in it

wrapped in satin snug as

they decompose till only

the bullet is left

I count my bullets

notching fingernail marks

in my palms as I pray

and I count every minute

my face ticking as my lips tock

nervous mantras

I count my bullets because

you taught me how the bang

which is heard most often

after the body falls

One for each second

between then and now

richocheting through

the heart of my grief

I count them every time

they get too near,

I bear the graze marks

of trenches dug where men huddle,

defecating in fear,

But it don't matter,

you still bring them back here

the stench of your war

stings my nostrils.

it's pain screeches from my tonsils

Hey Father! Look at what you taught me!

from the book of the dead,

inscribed in blood,

in chapter and plots

you point with a long range bore,

"It's okay as long as

your own eyes don't see."

Hey Fatherland! You can't say

it's not real!

it's real, unreal, reality, not meant to be

There's blood on your hands,

even if you don't feel!

But are there tears in your eyes

over each flag draped box revealed,

or are you dry eyed, petrified,

that the next might be your own soul

which had already died when you

signed the orders to expel

the souls of others, your own brothers.

by bullets I am counting as they fly.


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    • bayareagreatthing profile image

      bayareagreatthing 8 years ago from Bay Area California

      Very moving and emotional!