She Carries The Reflection Of Your War

You come face to face with a War you thought you couldn't escape.

She gives you the howling screams at midnight,
the shards of glass on open wounds,
the suicide of all that you trained yourself up to be.

You come face to face with a War you thought you had won.

She gives you the bottles of blood in a sunlight that is too damaged to glow,
the dead-weight lives of children you knew you should have saved,
the gravestones of a land so deeply perished, history has trouble placing its feet.

You come face to face with a War,
when you stand in her presence.

You come face to face with a War,
when you recite the dictatorship of your leaders.

You come face to face with a War,
when you find yourself being the cause of your own death.

Your loaded gun, your black boots, your bulletproof vest will not be the umbrella of your safety.

You tell yourself you do this for Man and Country,
but what do you tell her?

The one who sees death,
hears death,
inhales death,
sleeps death.

She Carries The Reflection Of Your War

She cannot save you.
She will not save you.
She has no desire to save you.

She tells you her War with her eyes alone,
and all you can do is look.

You look with insensibility.

She carries the reflection of your War,
and all you can do is look, because looking is all that you're really capable of doing.