Dulce Bellum Inexpertis Est

For a moment,

you block out the sound

of agonizing screams and bullets,

as all you can hear is the sound

of your roaring heart,

fighting to be free.

All you can feel

are your shaking hands,

and quivering lips.

Sweat bleeds

through the pores of your skin,

melding together to form a bead.

It drips down your back,

as you perch behind a tall boulder,

covered in blood,

on the balls of your feet.

You swiftly step into the chaos around you,

and you’re hit.

You’re hit with the realisation

that you’ve killed, and keep killing,

the ones that are innocent,

the ones that had

such a beautiful future ahead.

It’s a sharp, painful bullet

that opens old wounds.

You only understand that

you’ve stolen so many souls,

when you’re a dead leaf,

in the midst of autumn,

due to break loose,

and smoothly swing

side to side,

down to the damp dome

of fallen leaves

below you.

You’re lying on the incarnadine terrain,

clasping your fresh wound

as a bright light fades into your view.

The realisation beckons your tears,

the ones you’ve held back for so long.

They drip from the corners of your eyes,

hang on to your lashes,

until gravity forces them to fall.

They glide softly down your cheeks,

into your open mouth.

You taste the saltiness.

Your life begins to flash before your eyes:

The first times,

The loves,

The travels,

The hellos,

And the goodbyes.

When you realise

it all meant nothing.

Your eyes become white,

you lose all the feeling in your neck,

and let it fall back,

hitting the ground,

creating a crater around your head.

Too late.

So many lost their lives,

when words would’ve been enough.

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