sound bytes from a shattered life
fall through distant desert air
mimicking radio signals from home
the air is quiet
a boy lays bleeding by the roadside
his hands gouge the sand
as if particles of dust could imprint memories,
a nameless face shifting in grains of time.
when did we begin
cutting fingers from corpses
waging wars of attrition
against our own brothers?
time waits for no one yet
death does not wait on time
still it seeks a vessel empty enough
to offer a place to fill its seed.
your little death becomes
meaningless next to the emptiness
which remains in our hearts
there is no honor in winning
that which we should share,
no valor in sowing ideals
if no one remains to enjoy their harvest.
drink up, enjoy what is given,
sustain yourself for the next battle decreed
by a voice which is not your own.
photos pixabay CC