HUM OF WAR

to the same nights under the same sky when these things come to us individually

where ever we are

laying down a soldier's head that never has been able to escape the battle cry,

the bayonet stabbing, the raping and killing

the scolding pats on the back for doing the same; hushing out what's left of conscious

comes the subconscious and the wars within self and within foreign grounds all

over again and again.

what use is there for a broken toy - with memories like a fish bowl of soft new eyes

being blown to bits or severed limbs blasted into a tree.

what use can be constructed for shoddy knees and unhealed fractures to body and soul.

no use.

still comes rustling, this sweet tune that goes serenading

like the far off distant hum of crickets and mosquitoes and children with napalm

tears still alive in their pointless death

still I can't flush the statement from our brethren's memory nor my own,

"this isn't about our decision to go for you.

This is about your decision to ignore our need of you."

MORE CREATIVE WRITING: Page 1 | Page 3

CHERISH HODGE