Somewhere in the past are

Memories of light and joy.

Somewhere, back there,

When I was just a boy.



Now, there is no lightness

That can break this prison of blackout,

No joy that can pierce the agony of

Watching dreams and friends alike, crumbling.



Somewhere in my dreams,

There were flowers and birds.

Long ago in my summers,

At least, that's what I've heard.



But I did see a flower today.

It burned against the night sky,

Just before it blew my

Best friend's head off.

Flowers aren't friends anymore.



And the only birds we see are

Those that wing down to lunch

After the bloody massacre

Has long since ended.



Somewhere in my hope

There was love, and the giving of love.

I think I might remember,

But reality gives me a shove,

And tells me to stop wishing.



There is love here, oh yes.

But it is the love you hold for

Your comrades, when they save your life.

It's not the tender trust of a lover.



Somewhere on this field,

With the trenches stacked up high,

There is a bullet with my name

Inscribed in silver scroll on one side.



Maybe one day, I'll have strength enough

To duck before it hits me.

Sometime in this life,

I'll find out why this is so important.

But beans and bread have become

Paramount to justice, right now.



Somewhere in this trench,

I'll see something besides

"Despair, death and fatuous superficiality

cast over an abyss of sorrow."



All I see right now are the red-winged

Butterflies making rings around my rifle,

Neatly avoiding shrapnel,

And mocking the seriousness of a boy

Just-turned nineteen.



Somewhere in the future,

This madness will all make sense.

But I don't see why winning

The battle is so important,

When the war was never meant to be won.