War

guest post

by Elana House-Hay

There exists in the world

an unctuous roiling veil

The color, daily, may change

Perhaps black to red

Those it coats

find themselves smothered

in its slime

its soot

its Mind

The mind so ugly

It adulterates

even those possessed of

the purest of Heart

They cannot help

but fall to its shame

For what they do not know

What they suppress

Suppress so they must not

face it in full

Is that it lies within us all

The violence

The blood

The raw power and greed

It brings it out

With the staccato

With the thunder

With each puncture

of flesh

With each wail

of the mother widow

It grows

The Cloud,

it forms around

them all

Confident, gleeful

in its own success

The Cloud, it

takes their Heart

Eats it raw

Takes their Heart

Wrings it out

‘til it lies limp

at the feet

of the once pure.

They rarely chance

To feel their loss

For The Cloud,

it gives them a new Heart

One in the image

of itself

A Fake Heart

A dirty new soul

Even when the once pure

return to their homes

the new Heart,

It remains

It poisons the blood

It grips the mind

It forces all under it

to Succumb.

Life is not fine

Life is not bright

It takes on the black,

Perhaps red

of the roiling shame

There is no way out

Not even in Death

For the cloud,

it finds itself

New hearts to take

But, what the pure

should guess  is that

The Cloud

Has a master

A master,

of its own.

It, too,

lies within us all

Just as The Cloud

lies dormant

Slumbering, waiting

For the smell of blood

to bring it out,

It lies in fear

of the thing we

Can hold

Just as close

to our True heart

What The Cloud knows

What we should guess

That regardless if

there is no cure

There is prevention,

a way to dissipate the cloud

to banish it from us

to keep it free

from our Hearts

It is simple

it is pure

it is

Peace

The dove

The flower

The delicate dew

The savior

The good

The cleansing

it is

Peace

First Afghan  War