Post by Aкα on Jul 16, 2015 22:43:28 GMT
I just wrote this while listening to a song, so. Ya know how it goes.
Your brother lies dead at your hands, Texas skies above distant air planes dropping bombs across the country. There's dirt under your nails, soot splotched on your face drained of all blood. It's hot under your clothes, sweat stains down your back and your brow and your neck and your chest. Open wounds barricaded by cloth, dog tags dangling below you. Eyes wide, eyes too cloudy to cry, numb mouth, tongue, heart. Gun shots roar, smoke dances around you . There's a button on your brothers hard hat, two fingers held in the peace sign, the two same fingers used when he'd hold a cigarette between them. Just an hour ago he was dragging on one, his eyes alive, his chest rising and falling, muscles in his face making him smile, making him frown, making him laugh. He still smelt like that smoke, he still felt like the body you'd hug, but an expression hung over him that can only be held from the dead.
Bodies run past you, blurry, like trees zipping past in a speeding car. The world's running a million miles an hour, but you're safe here, where things feel still and there's only the hum of the bomb lit off seconds ago. Maybe those bodies are talking to you, but you can't tell. You see the screams on their jaws, you see the syllables saying your name, but they feel as far as enemy lines. A piece of cloth stands out among the grey smoke, the gas, the bodies, the flash from grenades and mud. White stars so far away, in a blanket of navy, streaks of red reminding you that this country was not built without a sacrifice. You look down at your brother and think you yourself what more of a sacrifice does this world need. A soul just departed from this Earth that never did a sin onto anyone. A man was just taken who had more potential anyone in the world. Out stretched hands took him with no hesitation, no guilt or shame or second thought. The years and memories and trust and love crumpled up and thrown down the barrel of a strangers rifle.
He was supposed to stay alive. He was supposed to shovel off the stone and come out with a few bruises over cast only b his smile. He was supposed to flip off the camera at his graduation, he was supposed to teach his son how to pull off the perfect swing in a game of base-ball. He wasn't supposed to amount to only wasting a single bullet from an enemy, he wasn't supposed to be another body buried. You could see the Earth hugging his body already turning grey in your palms, it would be his new family now. His new brothers were the discarded brothers in arms. He'd be a deep rooted scar on this battle field, pushed under layers of ground and grime and grit. You remark to yourself that his sun-tanned skin already looks the color of clay.
A man shoves you to your feet, he's yelling but his voice sounds as though it's under a sheen of water. You run, boots drawing into the mud with a dull squelch as you leave your brother to face bullet holes and barbed wire. The Texas sky dims a hue under cloud of gas.
Your brother lies dead at your hands, Texas skies above distant air planes dropping bombs across the country. There's dirt under your nails, soot splotched on your face drained of all blood. It's hot under your clothes, sweat stains down your back and your brow and your neck and your chest. Open wounds barricaded by cloth, dog tags dangling below you. Eyes wide, eyes too cloudy to cry, numb mouth, tongue, heart. Gun shots roar, smoke dances around you . There's a button on your brothers hard hat, two fingers held in the peace sign, the two same fingers used when he'd hold a cigarette between them. Just an hour ago he was dragging on one, his eyes alive, his chest rising and falling, muscles in his face making him smile, making him frown, making him laugh. He still smelt like that smoke, he still felt like the body you'd hug, but an expression hung over him that can only be held from the dead.
Bodies run past you, blurry, like trees zipping past in a speeding car. The world's running a million miles an hour, but you're safe here, where things feel still and there's only the hum of the bomb lit off seconds ago. Maybe those bodies are talking to you, but you can't tell. You see the screams on their jaws, you see the syllables saying your name, but they feel as far as enemy lines. A piece of cloth stands out among the grey smoke, the gas, the bodies, the flash from grenades and mud. White stars so far away, in a blanket of navy, streaks of red reminding you that this country was not built without a sacrifice. You look down at your brother and think you yourself what more of a sacrifice does this world need. A soul just departed from this Earth that never did a sin onto anyone. A man was just taken who had more potential anyone in the world. Out stretched hands took him with no hesitation, no guilt or shame or second thought. The years and memories and trust and love crumpled up and thrown down the barrel of a strangers rifle.
He was supposed to stay alive. He was supposed to shovel off the stone and come out with a few bruises over cast only b his smile. He was supposed to flip off the camera at his graduation, he was supposed to teach his son how to pull off the perfect swing in a game of base-ball. He wasn't supposed to amount to only wasting a single bullet from an enemy, he wasn't supposed to be another body buried. You could see the Earth hugging his body already turning grey in your palms, it would be his new family now. His new brothers were the discarded brothers in arms. He'd be a deep rooted scar on this battle field, pushed under layers of ground and grime and grit. You remark to yourself that his sun-tanned skin already looks the color of clay.
A man shoves you to your feet, he's yelling but his voice sounds as though it's under a sheen of water. You run, boots drawing into the mud with a dull squelch as you leave your brother to face bullet holes and barbed wire. The Texas sky dims a hue under cloud of gas.