December 3, 2010
Machine guns

that bite the dust.
Bullets fill your vision and dust fills your lungs over as one step to mankind crosses the enemy line…

The Border Line.
In one step

you’ve shot a mother
Who desperately tried feeding her malnutritioned child,
and it was just a delicious apple, the color now splattered on her child’s baby face.
Your rifle
in your hand, but inside you know you’re not alone, for in a tent will be stories about how your fellow comrade shot a little boys puppy,

Just cause he snarled.


A choke hold to the heart. Beloved ones on the floor and the vile of blood that made flowers bloom are now burning the roots.

Wake up:

Your family is at home praying to someone who can never ameliorate the pain, your daughter cries, “When’s Daddy coming home?”
Your family dog cuddles up to her feeling each tear pour

Daddy’s off to work, in a deserted plain, with his family in a locket, shooting innocence and objection, crossing that line.

The Border Line.

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