Poetry: Tidings of War

toy soldiers march along the deathbed

of my childhood fears

sparked by the incessant drumming

of a private’s tears

drawn by way of bands and brothers

of a thousand years

spent marching all along the coast

of hell-born bombardiers


blush pink dolls are torn apart

and strewn across the land

razed and blackened pole to pole

and turned from life to sand

fired into shattered glass

reflecting all we know

of the darkness in our souls

and alien sorrows


wedding homes are bombed to dust

for widows burned at stakes

accepted with a shriveled hand

for one prone to mistakes

transformed into burning screams

for blindness turned awake

to tidings of old wars revived

for angry old gods’ sakes

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