Suddenly the sky is illuminated with a pale yellow tinge.

Your surroundings suddenly emerge.

Faces begin to move closer- approaching.

The same lifeless faces you’ve seen in your trench for months now.

You are surprised to see this face plastered on the opposition.

The same suffering in their bloodshot eyes.

The same paleness in their  worn out skin.

The same longing for life back home.

The same unwillingness to kill unnecessarily.

The same skin wrapped on bones.

The same family photos resting near their hearts.

Then you stop and notice,

The different uniform.

Backs bent over with the weight of the world,

With the age of years advanced,

We are old men.

Three months ago I was in the schoolyard,

Studying Latin and the arts,

We were young men.

Slogging through the mud, lugging the guns,

Like mules at a fair,

We are burdened men.

Thinking back to being young explorers,

Climbing the garden fence,

We were free men.

An abrupt fear fills our minds,

The enemy approaches, a hundred to one,

 We are dead men.

I saw a young lad die today

Amongst the mud  where he’ll decay

To think his mother will never see his face

His girl shall never feel his embrace.

Shot down alone, no one beside him.

Only the blinding light to guide him.

He’ll leave this earth on the wings of death.

As from his body leaves his last breath.

The hum that cloaks your ears at take off and landing.

The bite-sized people roaming the streets.

The rolling wheels of the food cart appending.

The flashing lights: Seat Belt! Seat Belt!

The equally rediculous outfits on the innocent staff.

The whining kids, wiggling and jiggling on their mothers laps.

New friends.

New enemies.

The purr of the engine gives you time alone with your thoughts.

Then you land down,

Smooth as a gliding eagle

Or rocky as the carcass it carries.

Loud, yet exciting.

Then you’re there in your new place.

Whether for a while,

or a lifetime.

It all adds to:

The Thrill of Airplanes.

 

The glazed brown leaves,

brush the bank by the river.

Hot chocolate in a mug,

now tastes quite bitter.

 

The trees are naked and bare,

But people do not seize to look to them for shade.

It’s not summer, nor winter: it’s just not there.

Bustling kids prepping for snowmen, still yet to be made.

 

Away with the bikinis,

no sunblock needed here.

We’ll store it in a large, black trunk,

At least until next year.

 

 

When I think of the old me, a picture I see

A girl with a gun, and an all-knowing smile,

Scattered and torn, with joy for a while.

And I’m thankful that that girl, she is not me.

No one to hold her close their heart,

She stopped and she stared,

As the mighty gun flared,

While the blood poured out, her friend began to part.

She sprinted down the lane,

The distant call of sirens sent a panic through her body.

Her feet barely skimmed the moor.

As she turned the corner, her heart saw a jerking pain.

She ran up the driveway, she could see her mother nodding,

She got inside the house, slammed the door, and was a pile on the floor.

Love is an unpaid check.

Unrequited, maddening.

No answer, but a constant yearning.

They don’t give it back.

Painful, wanted.

 

Love is an lightening strike.

Unpredicted, seizing your body.

Your mind entranced.

A momentary flash of the future.

Hand in hand.

 

Love is an oak tree.

Stable and firm.

Defining a person,

as another ones half.

Ever lasting.

 

Love is a buried treasure chest.

The hope of finding it leads you on.

A long, long journey.

But once you’ve found it,

you know you’ve struck gold.